finished off at the Flower Market by the Madeleine, where I,
through the agency of Mademoiselle Aglae, bought plants for
'Maman.' This gave 'Maman' UN PLAISIR INOUI, and me too; for
the dear old lady always presented me with a stick of barley-
sugar in return. As I never possessed a sou (Miss Aglae kept
account of all my expenses and disbursements) I was strongly
in favour of buying plants for 'Maman.'

I loved the garden. It was such a beautiful garden; so
beautifully kept by Monsieur Benoit, and withered old Mere
Michele, who did the weeding and helped Rose once a week in
the laundry. There were such pretty trellises, covered with
roses and clematis; such masses of bright flowers and sweet
mignonette; such tidy gravel walks and clipped box edges;
such floods of sunshine; so many butterflies and lizards
basking in it; the birds singing with excess of joy. I used
to fancy they sang in gratitude to the dear old Marquise, who
never forgot them in the winter snows.

What a quaint but charming picture she was amidst this
quietude, - she who had lived through the Reign of Terror:
her mob cap, garden apron, and big gloves; a trowel in one
hand, a watering-pot in the other; potting and unpotting; so
busy, seemingly so happy. She loved to have me with her, and
let me do the watering. What a pleasure that was! The
scores of little jets from the perforated rose, the gushing
sound, the freshness and the sparkle, the gratitude of the
plants, to say nothing of one's own wet legs. 'Maman' did
not approve of my watering my own legs. But if the watering-
pot was too big for me how could I help it? By and by a