art in want of a new cap, so go, my child, and
choose it for thyself;" and then Father
Mathurin stooped down and kissed Ange, for
he wished to be very kind, but he was
naturally a very grave man, and not much used
to children, and he really did not know how
to seem kind to them. As soon as Ange was
gone, however, he sent for Jeannette, and
found fault with her for not paying more
attention to Ange.

"Remember," said Father Mathurin, " who
said 'suffer little children to come unto
me, and forbid them not,' and think how
much we ought to love and tend them for his
sake."

But old Jeannette was very angry at
being found fault with, as people often are
when they know they are wrong; and when
she had left Father Mathurin she grumbled
to herself about that troublesome boy, who
was always getting her into some trouble
or other, and then she went into neighbour
Margot, who declared she would not bear
it any longer, if she were Jeannette.

So Ange went out to buy his cap with the
money Father Mathurin had given him, but
he had not been out two minutes before he
had forgotten all about it; he really could
think of nothing but his dream, when he
walked up and down the streets instead of
looking for a fit shop to buy his cap; he
looked everywhere for the two figures in his
dream; he felt so certain he should find them
somewhere, so sure that the angel had meant
he should see them in reality.

Ange always loved to wander about that
old town, it had been very large and
prosperous, and though now its brightest days
were over, yet it had that sacred air of the
past about it far more endearing than if it
had been the newest and most flourishing of
towns.

The houses were built half of wood and
there was a great deal of carving about them,
and there were the oddest signs over the
shops to indicate the occupation of the owner,
and quaint inscriptions; and then the first
story invariably projected over the street, and
made a sort of arcade for the passers by, and
the pointed gables stood out in bold relief
against the clear bright sky. Then, though
the grass did grow in some of the streets
because there was so little thoroughfare, yet
Ange knew the face of almost every one he
met (and this could not have been in a
thickly-populated town), and many stopped to
speak a kind word to the little choirister.

Ange met Guillaume, who was in high glee,
and invited him to come and see his brother's
bright new regimentals; but Ange said he
could not go that day, and then he came to
the part of the town where the fair was, and
there there he saw a van of wild beasts and a
dancing bear, and a polichinelle, which would
once have amused him very much; there too
were pop-guns to shoot at a target, and many
other amusements, which would generally
have delighted Ange above all things. But
now he could not fix his attention on
anything, his eyes were ever watching through
the crowd for those two loved figures; and
though hope grew fainter and fainter, faith in
the beautiful angel cheered his heart, and
little Ange wandered on determined not to
despair.

The sun sunk lower in the heavens, and
the brightness of the day was over, and it
gave the world a melancholy tinge like the
rays of departing hope. Ange was weary
and worn with hope deferred, and at last he
sat down by a grotesquely-carved stone
fountain, which was in a centre place where
four streets met, and there, though there
were many many people passing and the
busy hum of voices all around him, Ange felt
quite alone. He sat in the sunlight and it
gilded his hair and made the ever-falling
water behind him sparkle like diamonds,
and he gazed upon the setting splendour of
the sun, and seemed as though he could see
far, far beyond this world; and he thought
how easy it would be to the great, and wise,
and merciful Creator of that glorious sun to
make his little heart happy, and give him to
love those sweet beings the angel had pointed
to in his dream; and Ange prayed again with
the intensity of all his heart, and the fountain
ever falling murmured music to his
prayer.

And now Ange saw by the sunbeams that
it was time for evening service, but the cathedral
was very near, and he thought he might
venture to stay a few minutes longer; it was
almost the first time he had rested that day.
There he sat languid and tired, with his little
head resting on his hand, when suddenly he
started—a shudder passed all over his frame;
he saw at the corner of one of those four
streets the figure of his dream, pale and
wan, with an expression of suffering and
resignation that sanctified her face. Poorly
clad, jostled by passers-by to all of whom she
seemed a stranger, she stood like a wanderer
seeking a home, but the child ever clasped to
her breast seemed sunk in sleep, unconscious
for the time of sorrow or want. Ange would
fain have run towards her, but he could not
move; he had tried to stand up, but his little
legs trembled, so that he was obliged to sit
down again. But what was his joy when the
figure moved across herself to meet him!
How he stretched out his arms towards her!
how anxiously he watched each trembling
footstep! She seemed so weak she could
hardly stand. How he trembled lest any of
the carts or carriages in the street should
touch her!

"Stop a minute; that horse is going to
back now. Oh, quick—quick!"

Ange could not help crying as he watched
her, for there were now many more people
than usual in the street on account of the fair,
and it was impossible for her to hear him.

"She is safe! she is safe!" cried Ange, in