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just now."



Bourgeois pass in the road, and salute Mam'zelle Rose with respect.

" How do you do, Mam'zelle Rose? And the captain? "

"Always vigorous, thank you; you are very good."

The priest passes in the road, with a slow step, wagging his head. At the sight of Rose, he bows, smiles, closes his breviary, and stops.

"Ah! it is you, my dear child? And the cap- tain? "

"Thank you. Father, things are going very nicely. The captain is busy in the cellar. ' '

" So much the better, so much the better! I hope that he has planted some beautiful flowers, and that next year, on Corpus Christi day, we shall have again a superb street altar. ' '

"You may be sure of it. Father."

" All my friendships to the captain, my child."

"And the same to you. Father."

And, as he goes away, his breviary again open:

"/m remirl au reuoirl All that a parish needs is parishioners like you."

And I go back, a little sad, a little discouraged, a little hateful, leaving this abominable Rose to enjoy her triumph, saluted by all, respected by all, fat, happy, hideously happy. Soon, I am sure, the priest will place her in a niche in his church, be- tween two candles, with a nimbus of gold about her, like