Same day.


In the oddest way that Coccoz family has become associated in my
mind with the Clerk Alexander.

"Therese," I said, as I threw myself into my easy-chair, "tell me
if the little Coccoz is well, and whether he has got his first teeth
yet--and bring me my slippers."

"He ought to have them by this time, Monsieur," replied Therese;
"but I never saw them. The very first fine day of spring the mother
disappeared with the child, leaving furniture and clothes and
everything behind her. They found thirty-eight empty pomade-pots in
the attic. It passes all belief! She had visitors latterly; and
you may be quite sure she is not now in a convent of nuns. The
niece of the concierge says she saw her driving about in a carriage
on the boulevards. I always told you she would end badly."

"Therese," I replied, "that young woman has not ended either badly
or well as yet. Wait until the term of her life is over before you
judge her. And be careful not to talk too much with that concierge.
It seemed to me--though I only saw her for a moment on the stairs--
that Madame Coccoz was very fond of her child. For that mother's
love at least, she deserves credit."

"As far as that goes, Monsieur, certainly the little one never wanted
for anything. In all the Quarter one could not have found a child
better kept, or better nourished, or more petted and coddled. Every