the rue Cluny. For the professor was, of course, poor, working
for five francs a lesson to private pupils; and a much more modest
sum for class lectures such as those which Georges attended. But
all this mattered nothing to Georges. He went gladly the very
next Sunday to Dr. Le Noir's, and there he met the professor's
daughter--whom you have seen. She was only just seventeen, and
prettier then than she is now I doubt not, for her face is anxious
and sorrowful now, and anxiety and sorrow are not becoming. You
don't wonder that the young student fell in love with her. The
father, engrossed in his work, did not see what was going on, and
so Pauline's heart was won before the mischief could be stopped.
The young people themselves went to him hand in hand one evening
and told him all about it. Madame Le Noir had long been dead, and
the professor had two sons studying medicine. His daughter was,
perhaps, rather in his way; he loved her much, but she was growing
fast into womanhood, and he did not quite know what to do with her.
Saint-Cyr was well-born and he was clever. If only his health were
to take a turn for the better, all might go well. But then, if not?
He looked at the young man's pale face and remembered what his
stethoscope had revealed. Still, in such an early stage these
physical warnings often came to nothing. Rest, and fresh air, and
happiness, might set him up and make a healthy man of him yet.
So he gave a preliminary assent to the engagement, but forbade the
young people to consider the affair settled--for the present. He
wanted to see how Georges got on. It was early spring then. Hope
and love and the April sunshine agreed with the young man. He was
much stronger by June, and did well at the hospital and at his work.
He had reached the end of his fin d'aunee examinations; a year's
respite was before him now before beginning to pass for his doctorate.
Le Noir thought that if he could pass the next winter in the south