to see them now and then on Sundays, when the weather and her funds
permitted.

"Is the country pretty at Juvisy, Mademoiselle?" I asked, by way of
keeping up the conversation.

"Oh, M'sieur, it is a real paradise. There are trees and fields, and
there is the Seine close by, and a château, and a park, and a church on
a hill, ... _ma foi!_ there is nothing in Paris half so pretty; not even
the Jardin des Plantes!"

"And have you been there lately?"

"Not for eight weeks, at the very least, M'sieur. But then it costs
three francs and a half for the return ticket, and since I quarrelled
with Emile...."

"Emile!" said I, quickly. "Who is he?"

"He is a picture-frame maker, M'sieur, and works for a great dealer in
the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre. He was my sweetheart, and he took me out
somewhere every Sunday, till we quarrelled."

"And what did you quarrel about, Mademoiselle?"

My pretty partner laughed and tossed her head.

"Eh, _mon Dieu_! he was jealous."

"Jealous of whom?"