day that God makes she puts a clean bib on him, and sings to him
to make him laugh from morning till night."

"Therese, a poet has said, 'That child whose mother has never smiled
upon him is worthy neither of the table of the gods nor of the
couch of the goddesses.'"



July 8, 1852.


Having been informed that the Chapel of the Virgin at Saint-Germain-
des-Pres was being repaved, I entered the church with the hope of
discovering some old inscriptions, possibly exposed by the labours
of the workmen. I was not disappointed. The architect kindly
showed me a stone which he had just had raised up against the wall.
I knelt down to look at the inscription engraved upon that stone;
and then, half aloud, I read in the shadow of the old apsis these
words, which made my heart leap:

"Cy-gist Alexandre, moyne de ceste eglise, qui fist mettre en argent
le menton de Saint-Vincent et de Saint-Amant et le pie des Innocens;
qui toujours en son vivant fut preud'homme et vayllant. Priez
pour l'ame de lui."

I wiped gently away with my handkerchief the dust covering that
gravestone; I could have kissed it.

"It is he! it is Alexander!" I cried out; and from the height of