wronging its author, and in the second place because you might accuse me of wishing to draw some bad inference against such works in general. It suffices to say that the book in question was written by a young man of nineteen, and especially dedicated to the reconciliation of hardened sinners; that Arsène was extremely depressed, and that she had not been able to close her eyes the night before. At the third page, there happened what would inevitably have happened with any other book, serious or not: I mean to say that Mademoiselle Guillot closed her eyes and fell fast asleep. Madame de Piennes noticed it, and congratulated herself upon the calming effect which she had produced. At first she lowered her voice to avoid awakening the patient by stopping too suddenly, then she laid down the book and arose quietly to withdraw upon tiptoe; but the nurse usually spent her time with the janitress when Madame de Piennes was present, for her visits somewhat resembled those of a confessor. Madame de Piennes wished to await the return of the nurse; and as she was of all people the worst enemy of idleness, she looked about for something to employ her time while she remained with the sleeper. In an alcove of the chamber there was a table supplied with writing materials; she seated her-
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