The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-09-20

but he himself was just then medi,atine on his past history. Most of his friends had forgotten him, and they had never guessed that Gustave Michaud had hed history at all. After all, ii was . ccnn- mon one-a bad-tempered father ~ho had driven his wife into . mad-keuse, and had thwarted his only son's fncli- nation to marry pretty. gentle gisl fos love. She never guessed that money, or rather the want of it, had made hes Madame Acard instead of Madame Mi chaud, or that cruel fafe had killed M. Michaud pere on her wedding day, mak- ing his son man with enough money to live tn, but with no interest in life. He gave up his professiou, society, and friends :: and settled down h that out-of- the-way street, cultivatisg hard exterior, but unable to get rid of that one wazm place in his heart which love for Julie had kindled. Now he had reached a stage in life when he could think of Julie with out bitterness.
 Suddenly light hasty ring at his tinl. ling little door-bell made him start as il he had been caught in the act of doing something he was ashamed of. Crossing two small rooms to reach his door, he opened it, and held his lamp so that the light fell upon the intruder.
 It was Georgette her face strangely altered, her hands elasped nervously to- ge.her, her gray eyes kindled with sup
 Mile. Georgete! What is the mat ter."
 "Oh, M. Michaud, we have no friend but you. Will you come and see my mother? think she is dying, and she moans out your name"
 Nj. Michaud was not over-pleased to hear this: still he followed Ceorgette sent for, and was certainly the only man necessary for this occasion, thought Nj. Michaud to himself, as he stood by Madame's bedside. She had only jus, strength to motion her daughter away and but one wish to mention to M. Michaud before going to another exist ence, where there would be no anxiety how to keep herself and Georgette in respectable poverty. But then-and here was her difficulty Georgette would have tc keep up the struggle alone.
 Monsieur, will you be kind to Georgette, for the love of your mother? She is my only child and she must not be as arc many other friendless girls in Paris-rather may God take her, too. You understand, M. Michaud?"
 M. Michaud found himself suddenly in very strange position; it was the last thing he had thought of, to have the care of young girl thrust on him; though certainly even the little he knew of her made him aware that Georgette was not quite like other girls.
 But" he began hesitatingly.
 But, monsieur, you are so kind-you have good heart. Think if Ceorget,e were your child, left alone in Paris! She is good child, only not quite liking common work, and that may lead her astray."
 Suffice 1t to say that before madame died M. Michaud had accepted the charge. He would be good to Gecrgette, and keep an eye on her but he did not then realize what this meant. When he had arranged that Georgette should lodge with the madame below, and that what she could not pay he would be answera- ble for, he fancied he had fulfilled his promise. He found out his mistake. In the first place Ceorgette's face would come'between him and his Figaro when he sat by his stove. Not that she at all reminded him of his long-lost, meek-eyed Julie; but yet those gray, earnest eyes haunted him strangely. Sometimes he was impelled to 20 and ask after Mile. Georgetie; and when she expressed her thanks in her earnest way, he felt he had really done nothing to de- serve them.
 There was no great harm in this : and NJ. Michaud was quite happy to let things go on in this manner; he had money, and he did not miss the little he spent on Georgette. However, one day, when spring was beginning to make Paris look beautiful, suggesting new life and new hopes, M. Michaud had a surprise. It was not an agreeable one. He often took his constitutional walk across the Tuileries, because 1t was pleasant place, and 1t was not his fault that it vas Georgette's shortest way home. This spring afternoon, as he sat down on seat watching the girls skipping and the boys racing, he kept his eye also on the steps down which Georgette must come {; but when he did see her, he almost started, for there was something strange m her expression.
 "B Bon jour, Mile. Georgette: did not you see me-" he called out, while his ugly grotesque face beamed upon the girl so pleasantly that she did not notice its want of beauty.
 No, monsieur" she answered "b but was thinking of you. was wondering how should manage to see you. May l sit down and talk to you?"
 "ies, yes; tell me what you like, Georgette. Your mother-'
 Don't mention her. Look here, M. Michaud, l can't help it; have tried so hard to like it-the hats and bonnets- but l can't. l must leave them, because l can do something better; it is in me: am sure it is. Do you understand, Nj. Michaud?"
 No, NJ. Michaud did not understand. Was the child little off her head No. indeed, Mile. Georgette; don't know what you mean. Are you complaining of Madame Bertine's bonnefs? She is