and the cheese. So when, after dinner, mamma rushed to me and said "Well?" I replied:

"I don't think I could find a better."

"Then it's settled."

"Two are necessary for a marriage.

"Oh, you may set your mind at rest on that score.

You

are two. I have been watching you the whole time during dinner. His head is quite turned."

That was my opinion, too. When mamma rushed to me, he rushed off to Madame Mercerey, who, of course, was of the party. He loved me to distraction; adored me, would marry only me-me and nobody else. And he besought Madame Mercerey to go and demand me from mamma at once.

She had to try to pacify him, and to show him that one must not act too rashly Mamma, for her part, would have been quite contented to settle the affair at once. She had a dread of the machinations of the Puymarin clique.

I didn't share her fear in the least. I recognized clearly what an effect I had produced, and I felt that I was mistress of the situation. So I reminded mamma of her promises, and of my resolution only to come to a decision when I had carefully weighed the pros and cons, and said that I had only seen him twice-each time in evening-dress. I was determined to see him twice in the daytime, and in frock coat. I knew how cousin Mathilde had managed. She saw her husband twice in the daytime-once in the Louvre, and once at the Hippodrome. As there was no Hippodrome where I could see Adrien, I would substitute the museum at Cluny. I was determined, however, to have my two interviews in broad daylight.

So Madame Mercerey arranged an accidental meeting at the Louvre for to-day at three o'clock punctually, in front of Murillo's "Virgin."

The same day. Five o'clock.

We have just returned from an hour's stroll in the galleries, where we did not pay much attention to the pictures. I imagine that he is surprisingly ignorant of pictures. But then I have no thought of marrying an art-critic. He has such a fine figure, and dresses so well. He speaks very little, is very reserved, but very correct; and above all, never makes stupid remarks. Taking him altogether, I am quite contented.

As soon as we were alone in the carriage in the Rue Rivoli, I had to repulse another attack from mamma:

"He's simply charming. I should think that you would never insist on Cluny now.'

"No. I waive that. Never mind Cluny."

"That's right. Then you've decided?"

"Not yet, mamma; not yet. One oughtn't to rush madly into marriage after having got a little information about a man's fortune and situation."

"But what more do you want?"

"To see him on horseback.

haven't seen him."

He's seen me riding, but I

In short, Madame de Mercerey, whose devotion is indefatigable, is going to advise him to-night to go and ride about at the entrance of the Avenue des Acacias about ten o'clock to-morrow morning. As inducement she will hint delicately that he may possibly meet papa and me. For papa

I must say that papa astonishes me he is acting the rôle of a father who has a marriageable daughter to perfection. He hasn't mounted a horse for four years, but to-morrow he is going to risk a broken neck.

Nov. 20th.

We had a ride round the Bois-all three of us-papa, he and I. He looks very well on horseback. He rode a splendid bay mare. I will take her for myself, and will pass Triboulet on to him, for I know Triboulet too well, and am tired of him.

On my return I flung my arms round mamma's neck— "Yes, a thousand times," I said.

And with tears in my eyes, I thanked her for having been so indulgent, so good, so patient.

Dec. 4th.

To-day at three o'clock the old aunt who has the box at the theatre on Tuesdays, is to come to demand my hand officially, and so before the 20th of January (that will be absolutely necessary because of the grandmother's will) I shall be Comtesse de Martelle-Simieuse. Adrien will get the one and a half millions and me into the bargain, as extra consolation prize. I think it will be money easily gained. I don't think that he is much to be pitied.

The wedding is fixed for January 6th.

Dec. 11th.
It is absurd to

get married at such a time, but it couldn't be arranged other wise. The will! The will! Besides, after all, the date doesn't displease me so very much. We shall have a short —a very short-honeymoon—a few days at Nice-ten days at the outside.

After that Paris in full swing, with all the theatres open. The unfortunate Louise de Montbrian got married last spring at the end of May, and returned to Paris after a sixweeks' honeymoon only to find the city torrid and sinister. We shall be supremely happy-of that I haven't the slightest doubt. He adores me. And I Do I love him? Well, I must be candid with myself, and it would not be true if I declared, in the phrases so common in English novels, that I love him madly; that I only really live when he is present; that I tremble at the sound of his footsteps, and start when I hear his voice.

Oh, no! I am not so easily moved. My heart can't be expected to go at that rate. But I already like him very much. Love will come in time, I have no doubt.

Love is such an economizer in a household. I bring a million, and we can reckon on an income of about 230,000 francs. That may at first sight seem a very large income, but it isn't really so. First of all we must deduct about 80,000 francs for the keeping up of Simieuse, our château in Vendée, and for hunting. That will leave only 150,000 france for living expenses, which amount will be quite sufficient if we love each other and pull together en bon comarade.

But if, on the contrary, we begin after a short time—and this is the history of many households-to pull in opposite directions, we shall only have 75,000 francs each, and that will mean pinching-supposing that theatres-leaving the opera and the Théâtre Français out of the reckoning-cost 2,000 or 3,000 francs a year if we go together, it would at once be double that sum if we went separately. And so with everything else-the expenditure doubled.

Take, for instance, Caroline and her husband. They have only 100,000 francs per annum, but they live well, and without economizing. Why? Because they love each other. They have quite a small house, and naturally don't require a host of servants. They receive little, and rarely go out. The more they are with each other, the more they see of

Caroline is quite

each other, the more they are satisfied. content, too, with 12,000 francs for her toilette.

Take Adèle as an example of the contrary. Poor girl, she married very much against her own will and judgment. Her mother was dazzled by the title. Certainly a title is something-in fact it is a great deal-but it is not exactly everything. Well, her marriage with Gontran turned out badly. Things went wrong from the first week. Consequently they find themselves pinched in spite of their great income of 250,000 francs. She spends a fortune on clothes, on stupid whims. It costs her much more to satisfy the whole world than it would to please one individual. The Duke, in consequence, has taken to play, and has already squandered half of his fortune.

Caroline said to me recently:

"As soon as you are married try to love your husband. In our set that means a saving of at least 100,000 per annum, and even if people can't love each other for love's sake, they ought to for convenience."

"Oh, yes! I'll love him. I'll love him. Besides, it's only the 11th of December. Between now and the 6th of January I have still twenty-six days before me."

ABBÉ'S

THE ABBE'S FIRST PENITENT*

BY NEITH BOYCE

OT at all-not at all," reiterated the Abbé, with gentle obstinacy, shaking his silver mane. "My dear Besson, you are quite mistaken. It is a popular fallacy, that notion that 'murder will out'nourished in the minds of the people by the Government for its own ends."

"My dear friend," murmured Dr. Martel, protestingly. "For its own ends," repeated the Abbé, placidly. "Monsieur le prefect here, for instance, naturally wishes us to suppose that he has more eyes than Argus, and that nothing can escape him, in order that we may be restrained by fear from following the dictates of nature, and disposing of some inconvenient or superfluous fellow-creature. Therefore when he succeeds in trapping a criminal he takes care that we all know it. But when he fails-which happens quite as often -what then? Why, like a sensible man, he says nothing about it

"But, my friend," interrupted the prefect, "you are mistaken there. Except in very rare cases, I could not keep such an affair quiet, even if, for professional reasons, I wished to do so.'

"Exactly," said the Abbé, provokingly. "Those rare cases form the second class of untraced murders. The first class consists of mysterious crimes-such as the murder of the Comte de Brissac in Paris last year-which cause a nine-days' sensation, but are finally forgotten without having been solved. The second class, as I have said, contains the 'rare cases,' which the police manage to keep from the public, the better to puzzle over them in private. And the third class, more numerous than either of the others, Monsieur le prefect, comprises those of which you yourself have never heard-crimes which are secret between the murderer, his victim, and God-with perhaps as a fourth, the priest, not less silent than the other three."

*Written for Short Stories.-Copyrighted.