protect. That they are anything more than a mere form of guardian, a
figment of the social fiction that a young French girl never leaves her
mother's side till she goes to her husband's, it is unnecessary to
observe. Human nature, especially French human nature, is human nature
all the world over, and Romeo will woo and Juliet be won during early
mass or twilight vespers as well as from a balcony, in spite of all the
Montagues and Capulets. Girl-chaperons are oftener in sympathy with
ardent daughters than with worldly mothers, while even the oldest and
most sedate of French _bonnes_ are malleable to other influences
than those of their legitimate employers. It was across our river,
yonder from whence the sound of the Angelus comes across the summer
water like the music of dreams, that Balzac's Modest Mignon carried on
her intrigues of hifalutin gush, by means of a facile _bonne_, with
a man whom she had never seen, and who deceived her by personating the
poet she wished him to be. Modest Mignons are not rare in our ville, and
the Gothic vaults of Saint-Léonard and the pillared aisles of
Sainte-Cathérine witness almost as many little intrigues, as many
heart-beats and blushes, as does "evenin' meetin'" in our own bucolic
regions.

Désirée, our _femme-de-chambre,_ before she came to us, lived in a
wealthy _roturier_ family.

"It was a good place, and I was sorry to lose it when Mademoiselle
Eugénie was married," said she. "The little gifts the _jeunes gens_
slipped into my panier as I came with mademoiselle from mass almost
equalled my wages. Mademoiselle had a good _dot_ as well as beauty,
and _ces jeunes gens_ expected to lose nothing by what they gave
me. Mademoiselle herself often said, 'Désirée, walk a few steps behind
me, and, while I keep my eyes upon the pavement, tell me all the young