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IN A WINTER CITY.
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grebe; about one hundred and fifty birds, happy, peaceful, and innocent under their native skies, had died to trim the wrap, and it would probably be worn about half-a-dozen times; for feathers are so very soon tumbled, as everybody knows.

"They are quite mad, both of them!" said the little lady, giving her small fingers in adieu, and turning to see that Maurice had all the things she wanted, and was duly hooking them on to her ceinture of oxydised silver.

She travelled with her two maids, a courier, and a footman, but none of them did as much hard work as the indefatigable Maurice.

"Perhaps, Madame," said the Duc, who indeed thought so himself; but was not going to admit it too strongly of two persons who, despite their lamentable weakness, remained his favourites. "But if a few people were not mad occasionally there would be no chance for the sanity of the world."

"Well, they will repent horribly, that is one comfort; she most of all," said Madame Mila, with asperity. "She ought to have been prevented; treated for lunacy, you know; in France they