Bearing in mind the heat and the degree of
languor engendered by it, it was curious to
observe with how much of energy our young couple
spoke. Monsieur Pierre Grandal and
Mademoiselle Eugénie Beaucour were a well-looking
couple. As, in the course of their walk along
the quay, they came under the light of the
lamps, it was possible to see, to some extent,
what they were like. Pierre Grandal was a
promising young fellow enough to look at; tall
and well grown, with energy and good humour
conspicuous in his physiognomy. He belonged,
as did the young girl by his side, to the
bourgeoisie.

Among other things which the lamps revealed
was the fact that Mademoiselle Beaucour was,
considering that bourgeois origin of hers, very
smartly dressed. Too smartly, perhaps. She was
habited according to the mode of that particular
season. Metallic coruscations were observable in
her bonnet, which was as small as possible, and
of a frail and perishable fabric. Her silk jacket,
too, was be-bugled and laced to a wicked extent,
and, terrible to relate, there was something
trailing behind her in the Marseilles dirt, which
bore some sort of resemblance to a train. It
was too bad. Old Beaucour was in the wine
and spirit trade, and was said to have
feathered his nest tolerably; but in spite of
all that, Mademoiselle Eugénie was got up on
a scale that caused neighbouring matrons to
shake their heads. This very "get up" was
the subject of conversation between our two
young people at the moment when we began
listening.

"Now, look here, Eugénie," young Monsieur
Grandal was saying at this particular juncture,
"you do acknowledge—don't you?—that,
considering all things, you are rather a fine
lady?"

"I don't know what you mean," retorted
mademoiselle.

"Well, I mean that your habits of life are
ever so little extravagant, don't you think?—
your style of dressing, for instance"—

"Yes; my style of dressing?" echoed the
young lady in a tone which suggested that poor
Monsieur Pierre was on hazardous ground.

"Your style of dressing," repeated Pierre.
"Is it not rather expensive?"

"I cannot dress like a femme de chambre,"
replied the young lady, "to please anybody."

A pause; for Pierre Grandal had something
to gulp down before continuing the conversation.
It was rather an unpleasant one, and it seemed
almost a pity to spend that evening in pursuing
it. For this opportunity of talking to Eugénie,
to some extent in private, was one such as
seldom fell to the lot of our youngster. In
France young ladies are more carefully watched
than they are in our own country.

Pierre Grandal and Eugénie Beaucour had
known each other from the time when they were
children, their respective parents being old
friends; but even under these circumstances it
was an uncommon thing for them to be able to
speak to each other alone. This very walk along
the quays was not a solitary ramble; old
Monsieur Beaucour and his wife being in attendance
not far off, and a younger brother, the inevitable
ami de college boy, in a semi-military dress, being
also of the party.

"Eugénie," said Monsieur Pierre, and his
voice was troubled, for he felt that a crisis of
some sort was at hand, "no one wants you to
dress like a femme de chambre, but it is possible
to be a little economical in your dress, without
doing anything of the sort. Does there not
exist any one to please, for whom you would
consent to be more moderate?"

"I know of no such person," answered
Eugénie, haughtily.

"Eugénie," continued Monsieur Grandal,
warming as he spoke, " have you heard of this
new thing that has taken place at Marseilles?
Have you heard that the men of the town have
banded themselves together, to bring about
such a change in the existing state of things as
that marriage shall become possible to men of
moderate means? Eugenie, this STRIKE, as it
is called, is not a thing originating in pique
or malice, but in sheer self-defence. What
can men do who are in the position which
I have mentioned? They are not people of
fortune—not even what society calls gentlemen.
They cannot keep a host of servants to attend
to their wants. They require that their wives
should keep house for them economically; that
while a fortune has still to be made, there
should be no extravagance in dress. Is all this
so very dreadful?" continued Monsieur Pierre,
observing a gesture of disapproval on the part
of his companion. "And is there no one to
please whom you would undertake to live some
such a life as I have hinted at?"

Mademoiselle Eugénie was fairly out of
patience. "No, I should think not," she cried,
with a stamp of her foot. "And as to your
Strike, I think you're all a set of conceited stingy
wretches, fancying yourselves of much greater
importance than you really are!"

"Don't include me, mademoiselle," urged
Pierre, angrily. " I have not joined the
Strike."

"Then I think," retorted the young lady,
"that the best thing you can do is to repair that
mistake, and join it as soon as possible."

"Your advice shall be taken, mademoiselle.
Here are your papa and mamma; allow me to
say 'bon soir.'"

And so they parted, Mademoiselle Eugénie
to repair to her apartment, and there to
give way to floods of tears, Monsieur Pierre
to rush off to the head-quarters of the Strike
to enrol himself as one of its most enthusiastic
members.

II.

What a curious thing pride is! Mademoiselle
Eugénie Beaucour spent the night which
succeeded that evening walk upon the quays in
bitter tears, while, as to Pierre Grandal, when
he woke on the following morning, after a very
brief and troubled sleep, and remembered that he