piece of furniture, and was not even conscious that the act of "soaping
in," was an unromantic occupation!

Such was the severity of this first blow that I pleaded an engagement,
presented my offerings (how dreadfully inappropriate they seemed!), and
hurried away to a lecture on _materia medica_ at the _École Pratique_;
that being a good, congenial, dismal entertainment for the evening!

Sunday came with the sunrise, and at midday, true as the clock of St.
Eustache, I knocked once more at the door of the _mansarde_ where my
Josephine dwelt. This time, my visit being anticipated, I found her
dressed to receive me. She looked more fresh and charming than ever; and
the lilac muslin which I had seen in the washing-tub some eighteen or
twenty hours before, became her to perfection. So did her pretty green
shawl, pinned closely at the throat and worn as only a French-woman
would have known how to wear it. So did the white camellia and the
moss-rose buds which she had taken out of my bouquet, and fastened at
her waist.

What I was not prepared for, however, was her cap. I had forgotten that
your Parisian grisette[1] would no more dream of wearing a bonnet than
of crowning her head with feathers and adorning her countenance with
war-paint. It had totally escaped me that I, a bashful Englishman of
twenty-one, nervously sensitive to ridicule and gifted by nature with
but little of the spirit of social defiance, must in broad daylight make
my appearance in the streets of Paris, accompanied by a bonnetless
grisette! What should I do, if I met Dr. Chéron? or Madame de
Courcelles? or, worse than all, Madame de Marignan? My obvious resource
was to take her in whatever direction we should be least likely to meet
any of my acquaintances. Where, oh fate! might that obscurity be found