I feel beautiful. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. “I dare not,” she answered. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. S.
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