The Ink-Stain, Complete

il

s brown notebook. But to-day there is ple

and the four walls lined with borders, one of which separates it from the huge premises of the Carmelites. It is an almost deserted garden. The first-floor tenant hardly ever walks there. His son, a schoolboy of seventeen, was there this morning. He stood two feet from the street wall, motionless, with head thrown back, whistling a mo

here. Some small Abigail with her w

one step forward, swept his hand quickly along the moss as if he were trying to catch a fly, and ran off t

him! He was basking in t

as the sap rose within them; and upon the dead trunk of a fig-tree was a blackbird, escaped from the Luxembourg, who, on tiptoe, with throat outstretched, drunk with delight, answered some far-off call that the wind brought to him, singing, as if in woodland depths, the rapturous song of the year's new birth. Then, oh! then, I could contain myself no longer. I ran down the stairs four at a time, cursing Paris and the Junian Latins who had been cheating me of

porters, to the first carnations, scarcely in bud, whose pink or white tips just peeped from their green sheaths; then the bouquets, bundles of the same kinds and same shades of flowers wrapped up in paper: lilies-of-the-valley, lilacs, forget-me-nots, mignonette, which being grown under glass has guarded its honey from the bees to scent the a

into every stall, and when I came

off! M. Flamaran, M. Charn

raria, which made his stomach a perfect bower. M. Charnot was stooping, examining a superb pink carnation. Jeanne wa

h, fa

t make up your mind soo

the elective affini

of mignonett

fair, well-bred, graceful plant like herself. Others choose their ca

right, M. Charnot in the middle, Jeanne on the left. She brushed past without seeing me. I followed them at a distance. All three were laughing. At what? I can guess; she because she was eighteen, they for joy to be with her. At the end of the marketplace they turned to the left, followed the railings of the church, a

pipe? Observe it well, my dear fellow-the latest invention of Le

d just climbed down

ctly dressed, always in a tall hat and new gloves, full of all the new stories, which he tells as his own. If you believe him, he is at home in all the ministries, whatever party is in

you answer? What a

ned hi

etty Mademois

know

her father, too. A

d with p

ittle thing; but want

irable

ig, too, fo

you mean

ittle too small,

at if they are b

it seems to have some effect

N

cted by m

N

my boy? And how's uncl

g to snatch me f

n to suc

hence as

not enthusiastic. A sm

matter of a th

r pro

es

in the country, my poor

he death of yo

ty-eigh

to be born there, Larive

hink about it. Good

the hand which h

ere you have met Ma

ellow, I am so sorry I did not tell you

asked you. Where

you expect me to see young girls

yards off he turned, and making a speaking-t

perfe

mire him, when we were low in the school, because of his long trousers, his lofty contempt of discipline, and his precocious intimacy with tobacco. I preferred him to the good, well-behaved boys. Whenever we had leave out I used to buy gum-arabic at the druggist's in La Chatre, and break it up with a small hammer at the far end of my room, away from prying eyes. I used there to distribute it into three bags ticketed respectively: "large pieces," "middle-sized pieces," "small pieces." When I returned to school with

acquire a taste for Larive's buffooneries, for a neat leg, or a sharp tongue. In that case what welcome can she give to simple, timid affection? She will only laugh at it. But you would not laugh, Jeanne, were I to tell you that I loved you. No, I am quite convinced that you would not laugh. And if you loved me, Jeanne, we should not go into society. That would just suit me. I should protect y

nd time. But she, whom you so calmly speak of as "Jeanne," as if she were something to you, never even noticed you. You know nothing about her but what you suspect from her maiden grace and a dozen words from her lips. You do not know whether she is free, nor h