costume, a source of as much interest to the mother as to the child.
The elder boy's plain white collar, turned down over a closely fitting
jacket, made a contrast with his brother's clothing, but the color and
material were the same; the two brothers were otherwise dressed alike,
and looked alike.

No one could see them without feeling touched by the way in which
Louis took care of Marie. There was an almost fatherly look in the
older boy's eyes; and Marie, child though he was, seemed to be full of
gratitude to Louis. They were like two buds, scarcely separated from
the stem that bore them, swayed by the same breeze, lying in the same
ray of sunlight; but the one was a brightly colored flower, the other
somewhat bleached and pale. At a glance, a word, an inflection in
their mother's voice, they grew heedful, turned to look at her and
listened, and did at once what they were bidden, or asked, or
recommended to do. Mme. Willemsens had so accustomed them to
understand her wishes and desires, that the three seemed to have their
thoughts in common. When they went for a walk, and the children,
absorbed in their play, ran away to gather a flower or to look at some
insect, she watched them with such deep tenderness in her eyes, that
the most indifferent passer-by would feel moved, and stop and smile at
the children, and give the mother a glance of friendly greeting. Who
would not have admired the dainty neatness of their dress, their
sweet, childish voices, the grace of their movements, the promise in
their faces, the innate something that told of careful training from
the cradle? They seemed as if they had never shed tears nor wailed
like other children. Their mother knew, as it were, by electrically
swift intuition, the desires and the pains which she anticipated and
relieved. She seemed to dread a complaint from one of them more than
the loss of her soul. Everything in her children did honor to their