praying earnestly and fervently for her dear
heart, that little troubles might pass away,
and that they might live for ever and ever
happily here and hereafter, she had felt
those wicked eyes fixed upon her, and was
sorely troubled. She felt they were those
of an enemy, and she could pray no more.
Margaret only lived for that one purpose—to
watch—watch always, and frustrate. She had
her prayers also. Watch she did—here, there,
and everything; that strange power, which
settled purpose gives, furnishing her with
opportunities, and giving her occasions. Was it
for this reason that she began to take such an
interest in Mrs. Jaques and her welfare? And
the pretty landlady, who admired all the English,
of every degree and nature, was pleased with
this notice, and used to return Miss West's
visits as she passed through the Place on some
commission, or as she came from the post. She
knew well, indeed, as every woman there with
opportunity must have known, the state of
"ce pauvre Vaist" and his treatment. She
had that pity which is allied to contempt;
and she admired her tenant the more for his
victory over a rival. The whole was a little
drama.

She had her own troubles. The enterprise
in which they had embarked their little capital
was rather too large and burdensome even for
that never-ceasing labour of her own and
Jaques's. Sawing up little logs on X-shaped
stands returned small profits, even if
continued from the rising to the setting of the sun.
And now there was some joyful news—an
approaching event which made our little
madame proud, but which was certain to add
to their other responsibilities. Alas! too, the
landlord had served notice—he must raise their
rent! Houses were growing more valuable
every hour. These little trials, and much more,
she would rehearse piteously to Margaret,
whose look assumed sympathy as well as it
could. " And now," added little Madam
Jaques, standing in the drawing-room—" now,
Mademoiselle Vaist, now, when I tell this
news to Jaques, which I thought would have
ravished him, he looks down gloomily and
pensive. Mon Dieu, what will become of us!"

This did not affect Margaret much: her
mind travelled away to a greater purpose.
Madame Jaques was an incurable, but a pretty
and engaging, little gossip. Margaret had only
to touch a spring, and she was telling fluently
of the splendid creature, Vivian. He was so
depressed, so low in his mind: madame quite
felt for him. There he sits, with his eyes on the
ground in a reverie. And " O mon Dieu! the
letters, so many, so large—that size," she added,
holding her hands apart. "And I declare I
quite dread them, mademoiselle."

"Why, why?" said Margaret, eagerly.

"He is so depressed, mademoiselle, after they
arrive: especially, do you know," added little
madame, looking round with an air of cozy
mystery, " especially after the Paris mail comes
in. Now you know, Mademoiselle Vaist, if it
was after news from his own country, we could
understand it would be in the order of nature.
But from Paris it is so curious, si intéressant,"
added the little madame, laughing.

The keen eyes of Margaret were upon her.
She was at her desk continuing an interrupted
letter. " What do you mean?" she said, coldly.

"Oh, I suspect, do you know," she went
on with a little pride. " We all suspect. He
is so handsome, so graceful, so charming—
few girls, indeed—and I dare say up in Paris
yonder, where he would, of course, be fêted and
admired—what more natural—some charming
girl has given him her whole heart."

"Whom he has deceived and abandoned!"
said Margaret, fiercely. " Nothing more likely!"

"No, no, I assure you, no, mademoiselle,"
said madame, covertly. "They would follow
him. He cannot help it, he is so handsome, so
graceful."

So she went on. Margaret was not listening:
her pen still in her hand, she was following out
some thought eagerly; her eyes were travelling
away. Suddenly she interrupted the little lady's
admiring raptures.

"You are going to the post now. Will you
take this letter, and ask if there are any for us?
We have no reason to long for the post; but no
matter. Indeed, if you could call as often as
you can, and bring us whatever letters came."
Madame was delighted.

In a quarter of an hour she was back again,
triumphant and out of breath. She was holding
up the mail.

"What did I tell you, mademoiselle? Was
I not right? mon Dieu! They come in
thousands, all like this, large as a placard;
and," added she, dropping her voice, "this is
the Paris mail—just what I said. Oh, he gets
letters of this pattern very, very often."

She held up one in an official shape of cover,
on blue tissue paper, and directed in blue ink,
with a little printed label in the corner.
Margaret's eyes settled on it abruptly; then she
suddenly snatched it from her. Madame was a
little startled. Margaret scrutinised it
carefully and eagerly, and then gave it back to her.

"It is some tradesman's circular," she said.
"There—that will do. I have to finish my
letter—don't you see? Quick."

After that madame noticed a restlessness in
Margaret, and eagerness for her to begone.
She described her to Jaques, the "bon homme,"
as brusque and rough. She did not like her.

"When I told her, Jaques, how happy the
bon Dieu was about to make you soon, she did
not embrace me as that sweet child opposite
did. You might have thought I had told her
I was going for a walk."

But when our little madame was outside
the door, Margaret rushed from her chair,
flew for her bonnet, and went out. With her
lips she was repeating to herself the words on
the label—" Maison Favre! Maison Favre!
Who will tell me—who knows it?" she thought.
"Paris is such a world; and in a school like
that there are so many! I hold him now; I