ugh fulfilling her engagement in the
_Salle_; but by and by pay-day,--a Saturday,--came round, and though the
pay was ready, she was loath to go up to Monsieur's little office.

It was an afternoon in May. Madame John came to her own room, and, with
a sigh, sank into a chair. Her eyes were wet.

"Did you go to his office, dear mother?" asked 'Tite Poulette.

"I could not," she answered, dropping her face in her hands.

"Maman, he has seen me at the window!"

"While I was gone?" cried the mother.

"He passed on the other side of the street. He looked up purposely, and
saw me." The speaker's cheeks were burning red.

Zalli wrung her hands.

"It is nothing, mother; do not go near him."

"But the pay, my child."

"The pay matters not."

"But he will bring it here; he wants the chance."

That was the trouble, sure enough.

About this time Kristian Koppig lost his position in the German
importing house where, he had fondly told his mother, he was
indispensable.

"Summer was coming on," the senior said, "and you see our young men are
almost idle. Yes, our engagement _was_ for a year, but ah--we could not
foresee"--etc., etc., "besides" (attempting a parting flattery), "your
father is a rich gentleman, and you can afford to take the summer easy.
If we can ever be of any service to you," etc., etc.

So the young Dutchman spent the afternoons at his dormer window reading
and glancing down at the little casement opposite, where a small, rude
shelf had lately been put out, holding a row of cigar-boxes with
wretched little botanical specimens in them trying to die. 'Tite
Poulette was their gardener; and it was odd to see,--dry weather or
wet,--how many waterings per day those plants could take. She never
looked up from her task; but I know she performed it with that
unacknowledged pleasure which all girls love and deny, that of being
looked upon by noble eyes.

On this peculiar Saturday afternoon in May, Kristian Koppig had been
witness of the distressful scene over the way. It occurred to 'Tite
Poulette that such might be the case, and she stepped to the casement to
shut it. As she did so, the marvellous delicacy of Kristian Koppig moved
him to draw in one of his shutters. Both young heads came out at one
moment, while at the same instant--

"Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap!" clanked the knocker on the wicket. The black
eyes of the maiden and the blue over the way, from looking into each
other for the first time in li