about that, afterwards. That gold cross you were
ridiculous enough to buy me yesterday, I shall
not wear. It is absurd. Je ne suis pas vouée
à la Vierge, moi!"

The innkeeper uttered a low moan of rage,
disappointment, wounded love.

"I thought you would have admired it,
Valérie."

"And I don't. Take me to the Palais Royal,
and I will talk to you about ornaments. How
I long to see that Palais Royal! These Lyons
goldsmiths are barbarians."

He had taken a place for her in the coupé
of the diligence to Paris, and was bidding her
farewell. He looked at her with gloomy, greedy
eyes.

"Ah! bah!" she cried; "one would think
you were the wolf, and I Little Red Riding
Hood. Is it for my pot of butter that you make
those great eyes, monsieur! What large eyes
you have, grandmamma!"

Constant abandoned further conflict. " I am
ready to accompany you to the coach-office," he
said, with dolorous meekness.

"There is a good little wolf. You'll make
Little Red Riding Hood quite fond of you if you
go on in that way.

          Je pourrais m'amouracher,
           Je pourrais m'amouracher,
           Je pourrais m'amonracher,
               D'un riche, riche, riche, très riche richard.

Do you know the chanson? The master didn't
teach it me. The girls used to sing it in the
dormitoryunder the bed-clothes. Ah! we learn a
great deal at school."

"I am ready, Valérie."

"And I too. It is agreed upon, n'est-ce pas,
that you leave me in peace for six months?"

"For six months I will not trouble you. I
will not even write to you if you are averse to
receiving communications from me. What I
have to say shall be said through my sister."

"No; that looks like surveillance. Write to
me: it will amuse me."

A gleam of passionate satisfaction shot across
Constant's face.

"I will write," he said, his heart palpitating.

"But no long letters. No love, or nonsense
of that kind. Don't bore me. Now I am ready.
Nay, perhaps you would like to kiss my hand."

She held out her hand to him as she spoke.
She had never granted him that slight favour
before. It was not a small hand. She was a
grandiose woman; but it was very white, and
soft, and plump. Who to look upon it could
have thought that it had drawn country wine for
bumpkins and stable-boys, or wielded a pitchfork
to toss stable-litter about?

He accompanied her to the coach-office, put
her in her seat, wrapped her up in warm shawls
and rugs, placed a basket full of dainties and
wine by her side, and would have pressed if not
kissed her hand once more, even in the open
coach-yard, but that she said sharply:

"Enough of that! You nearly bit my hand
just now, besides all but wrenching it from the
wrist. You are too affectionate, mon homme.
Good-by, and go back as fast as ever you can to
that stupid old Marouille-le-Gency. Adieu!
Love for you, life for me!" And the diligence
clattered and rumbled away Parisward, and Jean
Baptiste Constant was left desolate.

He could not make up his mind to return to
the village. He wandered about Lyons for two
whole days. He called again on Madame du
Verger, asking her futile questions. The school
mistress knew well enough what ailed him. He
had been a good customer, and she sympathised
with him. The girl had left some inconsiderable
fal-lals behind her— a gauze scarf, a pair or two
of gloves, a piece of music. These were given
to him, and he treasured them with burning
avidity. Then he went to the theatre, and tried
to listen to an opera; but the mocking voice of
Valérie rose high above the braying and tinkling
of trumpet and cymbal, and the flourishes of the
singers. He went from café to café, and drank
deep— which was not his custom; but Valérie's
scornful accents were audible, to him, above the
clattering of the dominoes, the jangling of the
coffee-cups, the cries of "Trois, six!" "A qui la
pose!" and the shrill "V'là monsieur!" of the
waiters. Valérie's face was in the cup, and
Valérie's form wreathed itself out from the
thready vapour of the cigars. At last he went
back to Marouille, to see after the wants of
the billiard players, and to scold the postilions
and stable-boys. But, two days after his return,
he went to Avignon, and instructed the same
notary of whom he had purchased the good will
of the Lilies of France, to advertise the Lilies
again for immediate disposal.

It was a month before any reasonable offer
was made. At last a customer was found,
in the person of an Avignon linendraper,
who thought that country air would do him
good. After much haggling, he agreed to give
forty thousand francs for the premises and good
will— a considerable advance on the sum
Constant had paid for them; but, by his energy and
perseverance, he had much improved the
property.He had written to his sister to inform
her of his approaching departure, but begged
her to keep it, for a while, a secret from Valérie.
He wished to be in Paris without the girl's
knowledge. His successor in the post-office
promised, in case any letters arrived for him
with the Paris postmark, to re-direct them to
him. Then he took his place in the diligence,
and, in two days' time, found himself in the
French capital.

When he arrived in Paris he wrote to his
sister, telling her to meet him at an obscure
furnished lodgings in the Marais. The
Hummelhausens lived in the Rue St. Lazare, in one
of the noisiest, liveliest quarters of the brawling
capital. Madame Hummelhausen came, and
brought her budget of news with her. Valérie
was more beautiful than ever. She had engaged
a music-master. She sang divinely. She was