I cannot-dare not-forsake him. For the Master says 'Whosoever

t Madame Patoux in her kitchen, and related to her the story of his night's adventure. She listened deferen

,-but alas! how often such goodness is repaid by ingratitude! The more charity you show the less thanks you receive,-yes, indeed, it is often so!

kindnesses, no matter what the results to ourselves may be. It is understood-is it not? that we are to be misjudged i

these days has the patience to endure even the least contradiction! Two men,-aye even brothers,-will fight for a word like mongrels quarrelling over a bone;-and two women will scream themselves hoarse if one should have a lover more than the other-asking your pardon, Monseigneur, for such wicked talk! Still, wicked as it may be, it is true-and not all the powers of Heaven seem to care abou

Poorly clad in the roughest garments as he was, his grace and plaintive beauty moved her heart to quick compassion for his lo

I thought I was in Heaven! I heard the angels singing in my dreams;-yes!-I heard a

t him in fascinated silence,-gazed and gazed,-till she found her eyes suddenly full of tears

emphasis on the word-"Would you have m

softly and tremulously-"It is almost as if he

him! He looked down at Manuel who still clung caressingly to his

from, Manuel?" ask

the boy answered, s

een penetrating eyes dwelling kindl

to tell me,-is th

if, because of this, you regret your kindness to me, my lor

h a sharp consciousness of pain and loss

please,-I will not think that you could do yourself or me a wrong by concealing

faint shadow darkening the serenity of hi

drew nearer

on living who has the

on

his juncture-"The little lad does not speak as if he were ignoran

welt upon her with a

f nature. The trees and rivers, the flowers and birds have talked to me and

that Madame Patoux was infinitely

h the country, without a soul to help him. Alas, that troubles sho

e thought,-God is so good that it is only na

e days I fear it is more natural still to forget than to remember. Too often we take gifts and ignore the giver. But come now an

n to care for, will no longer blame me for my interest in this child, who is without protec

ng and miserable, it is easy to understand that often they will curse the priests and even religion itself, for making such a mock of them as to keep on

ontent herself with relating the story of "Monseigneur's foundling" to her husband, who just then came into the kitc

tiously-"And it is likely that so Monseigne

" answered Madame-"But beaut

a boy!-Well, well! Monseigneur is a wise man, and a saint they say,-he knows best,-but I fear he

ed a moment be

seen him,-yes!-and at the sight of him a something in my throat rose up and choked me as it were,-and s

ng,-"Women will always be women,-and a handsome face in girl or boy is enough

Saturday, and they will be back early,-they are go

oux, his round eyes open

abette's whim. I told her the Cardinal was a saint,-and she said,-well! she said she would never believe it u

Jean gloomily-"I must

children WILL bring Fabien Doucet to Monseigneur;-they have made up their minds about it,-and if the lit

ourse, and then a complete education in cooking and domestic economy, so that she might be a useful and efficient wife and mother when the proper time for such duties came. Astronomy he felt they could both do without, and most of the "physical sciences." Religion he considered an absolute necessity, and this was the very thing that was totally omitted from the national course of education. He was well aware that there are countless numbers of unhappy people nowadays who despise religion and mock at the very idea of a God. Every day he saw certain works exposed for sale on the out-of-door bookstalls which in their very titles proclaimed the hideous tone of blasphemy which in France is graduall

struggle just to live-however, the good God knows best,-and if we could not think and hope and believe He knew best, we might just as well light up a charcoal fire, shut all the doors and windows, an

celery, singing "Bon jour, Monsieur le bon Dieu!" under his breath without the slightest idea of irreverence. And look

ich dark earth-"Never was there a boy born yet into the world that was not a trouble

e-mason, had been killed by a fall from a ladder, while engaged in helping to build one of the new houses on the Boulevards, and her only child Fabien, a boy of ten had, when a baby, tumbled from the cart in which his mother was taking her poultry to market, and though no injury was apparent at the time, had, from the effects of the fall, grown into a poor little twisted mite of humanity with a bent spine, and one useless leg which hung limply from his body, while he could scarcely hobble about on the other, even with the aid of a crutch. He had a soft, pretty, plaintive face of his own, the little Fabien, and very gen

ll not help a poor little creature like that, to be happy, though He is prayed to night and morning for it! No-no! Churches are kept up for priests to make a fat living out of,-but there is never a God in them that I can see;-and as for the Christ, who had only to be asked in order to heal the sick, there is not so much as a ghost of Him anywhere! If what you priests tell us were true, poor souls such as I am, would get comfort and help in our sorrows, but it is all a lie!-the whole thing!-and when we are in trouble, we have got to bear it as best we can, without so much as a kind word from our neighbours, let alone any pity from the saints. Go to mass again? Not I!-nor to confession either!-and no more of my earnings will click into

her in amazement and horror, and presently gave out that she was possessed of a devil, and was unfit to

, though THAT is said to drive away Satan by the mere touch of it! But wait till I ASK to have the Sacrament given to me!-it will be time enough then to refuse it! Many a fat chicken of my stock has the reverend father had as a free gift to boil in his soup maigre!" and again she laughed angril

trade of ducks and geese and fowls, which were heaped on her counter, their wrung necks drooping limply from the board, and their yellow feet tied helplessly together and shining like bits of dull gold in the warm light of the September sun. She listened with an impassive countenance while Babette poured out her story of the great Cardinal,-the Cardinal Felix Bonpre, whom people said was

ver her work to wink away the sudden tears that had risen in her bold brown eyes at Babette's enthusiastic desire t

cised a weird fascination over him,-a sort of power to command which he always felt more or less constrained to obey. He stared solemnly

od deal. He could not do any harm. And I am sure Babette would like to find out if there is any use at all in a Cardinal. I should like it too. You see we went into Notre Dame last night,-Babette and I,-and everything was dark,-all the candles were out at Our Lady's

sed up her lips, and knitte

red-"There is no God,-or if there is

eak plaintive voice of

her, let

ooked dow

ught but an old man, child, as helpless as any

appealingly before his mother, his fair curls blowing back in

ught him b

e!" she exclaimed-"L

eyes, or refuse any request he made of her,-and gradually the hard lines of her mouth relaxed into a hal

other says yes! We will not be long gone, Martin

nt. Then as they all turned a corner and disappeared, she sighed, and a couple of bright tears splashed down on her knitting. But the next moment her eyes were as bold and keen and defiant as ever while she stood up to attend to two or three customers who just then approached her stall, and her voice

the clouds will come, and the cold!-the sleet, the snow, the frost and the bitterness of winter!-and honest

es, not raising her eyes from her work even when her neighbour, the ol

to let him be with the Patoux children? They are strong and quick and ful

d Martine curtly,-"They have

orward in amazement and began to laugh feebly,-"Nom de Jes

old man who is kind to children, and the girl Babette ha

her, I am a widow and very old; and I have rheumatism in all my bones, and I have only a bit of matting to sleep on at home, and if I have a bad day with the market I can buy no food. And there is a woman living near me who has a warm house, with a stove in it,-and blankets to cover her, and a bit of money put by, and I envy her her blankets and her stove and her house and her money. Is that a

artine-"I thought you had given up

ow that is very likely to happen, Martine!-because you see, in this life we have nothing but trouble,-so whoever made us must like to see us suffering;-it must be a pleasure to God, and so it i

who was so steeped in ignorance as to think that a votive candle could rescue her soul from a possible hell. She went on knitting in si

all dead birds! Once they could fly-fly and swim! Fly a

t, but Martine knew who it was that

not unkindly-"You will tire yourself to d

but wild, and with a hunted expression in them,-and her dress was composed of the strangest remnants of oddly assorted materials and colours pinned about her without any order or symmetry, the very idea of decent clothing be

ll him! It is quite easy to kill-you take a sharp glittering thing, so!" and she snatched up a knife that lay on Martine's counter-"And you plunge it-so!" and she struck it down with singular fury through the bre

d from among the others, and setting it aside, picked up the

reat Archbishop of this wonderful city of Rouen! I want to ask him how it happened that God made men. It was a mistake which He must be sorry for! The Archb

erite!" responde

irl sauntered off. Several of th

ay," muttered the old vegetab

there never was a child at all. Whatever the wrong was, she has suffered for it;-and

market porters, who had just pa

s murdered her as surely as if he had put a knife through her;-and 'tis but even payment when he gets the knife into himself. Things in this life are too

, and having lit his pipe to

rgains till she had pretty well cleared her counter of all its stock. Then she sat down again and looked to right and left of t

with his treasures in the Vatican;-what should a great Cardinal care for my poor little Fabien! If the stories of the Christ were true, and one could only take the child to Him, then indeed there might be a chance of cure!-but it is all a lie,-and t