At five o'clock we are to set out, and put it up in Paulette's
grandmother's room.

Midnight.--All has gone off well. At the hour agreed upon, I was at the
old bandbox-maker's; she was still out. My Piedmontese

[In Paris a chimney-sweeper is named "Piedmontese" or "Savoyard,"
as they usually come from that country.]

fixed the stove, while I arranged a dozen logs in the great fireplace,
taken from my winter stock. I shall make up for them by warming myself
with walking, or by going to bed earlier.

My heart beat at every step that was heard on the staircase; I trembled
lest they should interrupt me in my preparations, and should thus spoil
my intended surprise. But no!--see everything ready: the lighted stove
murmurs gently, the little lamp burns upon the table, and a bottle of oil
for it is provided on the shelf. The chimney-doctor is gone. Now my
fear lest they should come is changed into impatience at their not
coming. At last I hear children's voices; here they are: they push open
the door and rush in--but they all stop in astonishment.

At the sight of the lamp, the stove, and the visitor, who stands there
like a magician in the midst of these wonders, they draw back almost
frightened. Paulette is the first to comprehend it, and the arrival of
the grandmother, who is more slowly mounting the stairs, finishes the
explanation. Then come tears, ecstasies, thanks!

But the wonders are not yet ended. The little sister opens the oven, and
discovers some chestnuts just roasted; the grandmother puts her hand on