in every way corresponding with my apartment
in number twenty-seven, is the abode of
M. Jules Gigot, a retired butcher. His
family, when I first knew him, consisted of
his wife, two daughters and a black and
white plethoric spaniel, called Eda. M. Gigot
possessed qualities surprisingly agreeable
and sterling. He had taken a prominent
part in the political movements of 'forty-eight,
both as an orator and a fusileer; and, on the
occasion of the first grand national election,
was within an ace of being returned a
representative of the people. His souvenirs of
these events formed a perpetual topic of
conversation with him. He was, in every sense
of the word, a good fellow. He had a large
head, large hands, large heart, large stomach,
and a deep double chin. Madame Gigot was
of the same noble proportions as her husband;
but a habit, early contracted, of counting up
centimes behind the counter had somewhat
sharpened her naturally benevolent disposition,
and had angularised her chin and cheekbones.
Julie, the eldest daughter, was a
modest, (I am speaking of four or five years ago),
sensible brunette, short in stature. Georgette,
on the contrary, was what is called a fine girl
—tall, fair, and infinitely animated; with
features rendered radiant by a couple of
large light laughing eyes. They both
played prettily on the piano, and sang as
prettily little French sentimental songs and
duets.

In less than three months, I was installed
a legitimate friend of the family. I went in
when I liked, dined there when I liked,
accompanied them to the theatre, visited the
Bois de Vincennes, Charenton, Joinville, St.
Maur, whenever there was a jour de fête to be
passed in that direction. In the evening I
played at piquet with the old man, or dominoes
with madame. There was no one of
their acquaintance who could approach me in
my relations with this excellent family, unless
it were Antoine, a fellow-workman: who had,
indeed, introduced me to the Gigots. He was
a little my senior, and had drawn a good
number at the conscription of 'forty-seven.
But if he enjoyed similar privileges with
myself, he made use of them less; and
rarely entered into very familiar
conversation with either the father, the mother,
Julie, or Georgette. His favourite at first
seemed to be Eda. This was attributed to
a habit of reserve.

Julie, when I first saw her, was scarcely seventeen.
But seventeen in Paris does not mean
the same as seventeen in London. The peaches
of Provence ripen earlier than the peaches of
Chaumur; and though Julie would be young
for our cold climate, in reality she had
acquired all the habit and the finish of a
young lady of twenty. She was gay, though
reserved; calm, yet capable of great
excitement. Occasionally her dark eyes shot
from beneath their long lashes glances of
fire; whilst at other times, her raven hair,
clustering tranquilly in ringlets over her
shoulders, and a soft smile playing upon
her bright lips, gave her the appearance of
a gentle being, whom it was scarcely possible
to rouse into deeper feeling than belongs
to a child of ten.

I have often stood at my windows in
number twenty-seven, to see if Julie would
appear at hers in number twenty-six, or in
any way make herself visible. Even the
factory-bell, which might be heard a mile
beyond where I lived, hardly aroused me
from my vigils. Night and day I had
Julie's image in my head, and night and
day I asked myself, in the name of common-
sense, how it had got there? I would and I
would not get rid of it. My admiration
humbled me. I argued with myself perpetually,
I had no right to aspire to her hand.
It is true that her parents were not above
me in their social position. They had retired
from business, and were living on the fruits
of their honest labours. I was beginning
as they had begun, and might I not leave off
as they had left off?

Two years elapsed before I could gain
sufficient courage to regard the matter in a
sensible point of view, and believe that M. and
Madame Gigot were not on the look-out,
either for a coronet or a plum for their eldest
daughter. Having, therefore, laid aside this
enemy, I took unto myself another—the demon
Jealousy. I became a self-tormentor. This
arose, too, from the playful, satirical conduct of
the girl herself. I could not understand her; felt
annoyed, and, therefore, charitably placed the
worst construction I could upon her manner.
She appeared warm in her welcome one night,
cold the next, so that I could not help naming
her the vilest of coquettes. Any slight failing
that I exhibited was made the most of
to create a moment's mirth, or display a little
wit. Antoine was not so frequent a visitor
to the family as myself, but when he came,
although he was always reserved and shy, I
fancied the father and mother lavished upon
him more attention than they did on me, and
that Julie made it a special occasion for
redoubling her pleasantries against me. If
there were a dance, I perceived that he
engaged so many times Julie as a partner, and
also Georgette so many times. This I
conceived to be simply a ruse to disarm suspicion.
Yet he and I were always on friendly terms
at the factory.

I burnt with a desire to bring matters
to a close, but was blinded by a foolish diffidence
from perceiving her real sentiments
towards me, till the summer of 'fifty-one.
Then it was that matters were hurried
to a crisis, yet in a way by no means
devoutly to be wished for. The fourth of
August was the anniversary of Julie's fête:
I was determined to make such a demonstration
on the occasion as should reveal the
strength and nature of my feelings towards
her, and if possible obtain some clue to hers