bounder had kept his word, it would have been an extraordinary
conclusion to our adventures--as persons of literary discretion, we can
hardly regret that a story did not end so improbably.... My children,
Miranda, good-night--and a Merry Christmas!"



THE CAFE OF THE BROKEN HEART

On the last day of the year, towards the dinner-hour, a young and
attractive woman, whose costume proclaimed her a widow, entered the
Cafe of the Broken Heart. That modest restaurant is situated near the
Cemetery of Mont-martre. The lady, quoting from an announcement over
the window, requested the proprietor to conduct her to the "Apartment
reserved for Those Desirous of Weeping Alone."

The proprietor's shoulders became apologetic. "A thousand regrets,
madame," he murmured; "the Weeping Alone apartment is at present
occupied."

This visibly annoyed the customer.

"It is the second anniversary of my bereavement," she complained, "and
already I have wept here twice. The woe of an habituee should find a
welcome!"

Her reproof, still more her air of being well-to-do, had an effect on
Brochat. He looked at his wife, and his wife said hesitatingly:

"Perhaps the young man would consent to oblige madame if you asked him