transient a character as to be quenched by a
little difficulty.

"But he appears to have felt that he made
but little way, and he awkwardly turned to
Pierre for help—not yet confessing his love,
though: he only tried to make friends again
with the lad after their silent estrangement.
And Pierre for some time did not choose
to perceive his cousin's advances. He would
reply to all the roundabout questions Morin
put to him respecting household conversations
when he was not present, or household
occupations and tone of thought, without
mentioning Virginie's name any more
than his questioner did. The lad would seem
to suppose, that his cousin's strong interest
in their domestic ways of going on was all on
account of Madame Babette. At last he
worked his cousin up to the point of making
him a confidant; and then the boy was half-
affrighted at the torrent of vehement words
he had unloosed. The lava came down with
a greater rush for having been pent up so
long. Morin cried out his words in a hoarse,
passionate voice, clenched his teeth, his
fingers, and seemed almost convulsed as he
spoke out his terrible love for Virginie,
which would lead him to kill her sooner than
see her another's; and if another stepped in
between him and her: and then he smiled a
fierce, triumphant smile, but did not say any
more.

"Pierre was, as I said, half-frightened;
but also half-admiring. This was really love
—a 'grande passion,'—a really fine, dramatic
thing,—like the plays they acted at the little
theatre yonder. He had a dozen times the
sympathy with his cousin now that he had
had before, and readily swore by the
infernal gods, for they were far too enlightened
to believe in one God, or Christianity, or
anything of the kind,—that he would devote
himself, body and soul, to forwarding his cousin's
views. Then his cousin took him to a shop,
and bought him a smart second-hand watch,
on which they scratched the word Fidélité,
and thus was the compact sealed. Pierre
settled in his own mind, that if he were a
woman, he should like to be beloved as
Virginie was, by his cousin, and that it would
be an extremely good thing for her to be the
wife of so rich a citizen as Morin Fils,—and
for Pierre himself, too, for doubtless their
gratitude would lead them to give him rings
and watches ad infinitum.

"A day or two afterwards, Virginie was
taken ill. Madame Babette said it was
because she had persevered in going out in
all weathers, after confining herself to two
warm rooms for so long; and very probably
this was really the cause, for, from Pierre's
account, she must have been suffering from
a feverish cold, aggravated no doubt by her
impatience at Madame Babette's familiar
prohibitions of any more walks until she
was better. Every day, in spite of her
trembling, aching limbs, she would fain have
arranged her dress for her walk at the usual
time; but Madame Babette was fully
prepared to put physical obstacles in her way, if
she was not obedient in remaining tranquil
on the little sofa by the side of the fire. The
third day she called Pierre to her when his
mother was not attending (having, in fact,
locked up Mademoiselle Cannes' out-of-door
things).

"' See, my child,' said Virginie. ' Thou
must do me a great favour. Go to the
gardener's shop in the Rue des Bons-Enfans,
and look at the nosegays in the window. I
long for pinks; they are my favourite flower.
Here are two francs. If thou seest a nosegay
of pinks displayed in the window, if it be
ever so faded,—nay, if thou seest two or
three nosegays of pinks, remember, buy them
all, and bring them to me. I have so great
a desire for the smell.' She fell back weak
and exhausted. Pierre hurried out. Now
was the time; here was the clue to the long
inspection of the nosegays in this very shop.

"Sure enough, there was a drooping nosegay
of pinks in the window. Pierre went in,
and with all his impatience, he made as good
a bargain as he could, urging that the flowers
were faded, and good for nothing. At last
he purchased it at a very moderate price.
And now you will learn the bad consequences
of teaching the lower orders anything beyond
what is immediately necessary to enable them
to earn their daily bread! The silly Count
de Créquy,—he who had been sent to his
bloody rest, by the very canaille of whom he
thought so much,—he who had made
Virginie (indirectly, it is true) reject such a man
as her cousin Clément, by inflating her mind
with his bubbles of theories,—this Count de
Créquy had long ago taken a fancy to Pierre,
as he saw the bright sharp child playing
about his court-yard. Monsieur de Créquy
had even begun to educate the boy himself,
to try to work out certain opinions of his
into practice,—but the drudgery of the affair
wearied him, and beside, Babette had left his
employment. Still the Count took a kind of
interest in his former pupil; and made some
sort of arrangement by which Pierre was to
be taught reading and writing, and accounts,
and Heaven knows what besides,—Latin, I
dare say. So Pierre, instead of being an
innocent messenger, as he ought to have been
—(as Mr. Horner's little lad Gregson ought
to have been this morning)—could read
writing as well as you or I. So what does he
do on obtaining the nosegay, but examine it
well. The stalks of the flowers were tied up
with slips of matting in wet moss. Pierre
undid the strings, unwrapped the moss, and
out fell a piece of wet paper, with the writing
all blurred with moisture. It was but a
torn piece of writing-paper apparently, but
Pierre's wicked mischievous eyes read what
was written on it, written so as to look like a
fragment.—'Ready, every and any night at
nine. All is prepared. Have no fright,