I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Wait, though. “DEAR MR. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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