What Angels we should be!

But while I moralized there came a change. Beneath the entomologist's dark
hand, as it searched and hurried throughout the room, the flutter of wings
had ceased as under a wind of death.

"You must have a hundred and fifty of them," I said as the last victim
ceased to flutter.

"Yes."

"Their sale is slow, of course, but every time you sell one, you ought to
get"--I was judging by some prices he had charged me--"you ought to get
two dollars." And I secretly rejoiced for Senda.

"I not can afford to sell t'em," he replied, with his back to me.

"Why, how so?"

"No, it iss t'is kind vhat I can exshange for five, six, maybe seven
specimenss fon Ahfrica undt Owstrahlia. No, I vill not sell t'em."

"Oh, I see," said I, in mortal disgust. "Fontenette, I'm going to bed."
And Fontenette went too.

The next day was cloudless--in two hearts; Senda's, and Fontenette's. As
to the sky, that is another matter; one of the charms of that warm wet
land is that, with all its sunshine, it is almost never without clouds.
And indeed it would be truer to say of my two friends' skies, that they
had clouds, but the clouds were silvered through with happy reassurances.