them. Often she interrupted a lively laugh to weep passionately, and
checked her tears to laugh again. A real child of Paris, Miss
Dimpleton preferred tumult to quiet, bustle to repose, the sharp,
ringing harmony of the orchestra at the balls of the _Chartreuse_
and the _Colysee_, to the soft murmur of wind, water, and trees;
the deafening tumult of the streets of Paris, to the silence of the
country; the dazzling of the fireworks, the glittering of the flowers,
the crash of the rockets, to the serenity of a lovely night--starlit,
clear, and still. Alas! yes, this good girl preferred the black mud of
the streets of the capital to the verdure of its flowery meadows; its
pavements miry or tortuous, to the fresh and velvet moss of the paths
in the woods, perfumed by violets; the suffocating dust at the City
gates, or the Boulevards, to the waving of the golden ears of corn,
enameled by the scarlet of the wild poppy and the azure of the
bluebell.

Miss Dimpleton never left home but on Sundays, and every morning laid
in her provisions of chick-weed, bread, hempseed, and milk for her
birds and herself, as Mrs. Pipelet observed. But she lived in Paris
for the sake of Paris; she would have been miserable elsewhere than in
the capital.

After a few words upon the personal appearance of the grisette, we
will introduce Rudolph into his neighbor's apartment.

Miss Dimpleton had scarcely attained her eighteenth year; rather below
the middle size, her figure was so gracefully formed and voluptuously
rounded, harmonizing so well with a sprightly and elastic step, that
an inch more in height would have spoiled the graceful symmetry that
distinguished her. The movement of her pretty little feet, incased in