to counterbalance the weight, and her healthy cheeks, flushed more than usual by the exertion, surpassed the brilliance of the fruit itself.

She cast only a half-glance at her interlocutor, and replied with a slightly contemptuous curl of her lip: 'I could not think, Monsieur Joseph, of taking you away from your business.'

'It is no trouble,' quoth the clown, who did not, however, offer to take the basket by force, as we should have done in his place, but stood half-hesitating whether or not to go away.

'I can do very well by myself,' she continued, staggering away with her load.

Joseph scratched his head, took a step after her, paused, and turning short round, went into a wine-shop to take a glass of brandy, still, however, with the vague idea of running after the girl, and offering his services. The fate of his whole life was probably decided at that moment; for this was his story :-About two years before, he had left Le Buisson, his native village, to come up to Paris and establish himself as a grocer in partnership with a cousin who had already made some way in the world. He took away with him the promise of Clarisse Claudet, then not more than sixteen, and of her parents-small farmers-that if he behaved himself-or, as she understood it, was faithful—or, as they understood it, made a great deal of money-the marriage should take place within a reasonable time. Joseph was not particularly captivating in personal appearance—at least it was not thought so in Paris; but he was stout, strong, healthy, good-humoured, hardworking, and possessed that fascinating quality of simplicity which we all have at a certain period of life, and which we nearly all, sooner or later, lose. The French say in their proverb, that youth is the beauty of the devil-a mysterious allusion, which we do not quite understand. Perhaps it means, that when we are young we hold out hopes of goodness as a snare, for we all seem good at that time; whereas afterwards, the characters of evil are gradually written on our countenances. Sin is ugliness; bad passions alone distort the features; a frown leaves a furrow behind it, but a smile flashes round our lips, and no trace remains. At any rate, Clarisse looked upon the broad open countenance of Joseph, and thought she loved him; and she did so with the love of sixteen-a premature feeling suggested from without, not from within: in towns, forced into life by reading of novels and poetry-in the country, by the rude jingling songs which girls go singing along the green lanes, at first with the unconsciousness of birds waked into music by the morning sun, and then with the half-comprehension which the familiar use of sentimental words and phrases brings on. These damsels who leave their wax and saw-dust playthings too soon, are sure to treat love as a plaything. Clarisse was won by a bunch of flowers given to her as she came out of mass one Sunday morning; and the greatest sign of affection she had ever exhibited for Joseph was to box the ears of one of her comrades,

twice as tall as herself, for saying that he was a fool. His courtship, which consisted in his coming to see her every evening, and looking at her as a cat looks at a linnet in a cage, and in claiming her hand when there was a dance under the elm-tree row at the hour when the sun threw its last beams horizontally over the great beet-root fields on either side; when the flies came from the surface of the neighbouring stream to buzz about the head of the fiddler, and almost drown the notes of his instrument; when the old people of the village were sitting on their three-legged stools here and there, some smoking, some nodding, some even whispering about the capers they used to cut half a century before-this courtship, we say, lasted some.six months; at the end of which, Joseph kissed the two old Claudets on both cheeks, for the first time saluted Clarisse as she said, by biting the tip of her ear in his confusion—and shouldering a packet, wrapped up in an old blouse, and swung on the end of a stick, started off for Paris. Half the village accompanied him a mile on his way, and Clarisse, we must remember to mention, soon insisted on carrying the bundle. When they came to the high road, the peasants, who always think of the main chance, shouted out to him when he was more than fifty yards off, to make plenty of money; but his mother, who leaned trembling on a stick, cried merely: Bring back yourself, Joseph!' He did not hear those words, for her voice was feeble, but he heard what the others said; and as he trudged along, shaking off his sorrow, he began to grasp Paris in the clutches of his mind, and turn it over and examine it, and to think how much he might make out of it in a given number of years.

6

He was fortunate in a worldly point of view. His cousin's business soon became a flourishing one, and Joseph learned with astonishing rapidity the arts by which profit is made in a retailshop in Paris. In a very few weeks, his conscience ceased to twit him for the thickness of the paper used in weighing butter, and for the omission of the extra grammes necessary to make up small portions. In less than a month, he became perfectly reckless as to the quantity of chicory surreptitiously mixed with the ground coffee; and soon afterwards he learned to aver that an egg, which he knew to be bad, was fresh laid. From these details, it will appear that he was not established in a fashionable street. His customers were poor people, who sometimes had not above a few sous to lay out, and who would often humbly demand credit. Half a year after he began business, Joseph distinguished himself by accepting a poor widow's bonnet in pledge for a pound of sugar. Narcisse, his cousin, was amazed, and wrote home to Le Buisson to say that his partner was worth his weight in gold, and would undoubtedly make his fortune. The Claudets shewed the letter about the village; and Clarisse, influenced by their enthusiasm, actually turned her back on the son of a substantial farmer, who was taking advantage of Joseph's absence to pay his addresses. poor girl thought that the praises bestowed on her affianced

The

were earned by some wonderful financial capacity he had exhibited.

It would be too long to trace the progress by which, within a couple of years, Joseph became fat and prosperous. It would be too disagreeable to relate in detail how he became corrupted and selfish. He led the life which people of his class usually lead in Paris. The time that was not devoted to money-making, was spent in debauchery, in drinking, and in card-playing. By degrees, he almost forgot the existence of Clarisse, or, at anyrate, looked upon his engagement almost as a bore; not that he thought of jilting her-but why, after the lapse of two short years, should Father Claudet write to him, and mention in a postscript that his daughter had grown into a fine healthy young woman, who was ready at a moment's notice to fulfil her promise? Really, this was unpardonable impatience. The girl could wait; there was no hurry; a year or two more of liberty, if you please. Those stupid old people may consider themselves very happy in looking forward to such a promising son-in-law. What! can this be true? At the end of the month of May, Clarisse will come to Paris, on a visit to her maiden aunt, who lives in the Rue de l'Echaudé ! —' There's an opportunity for you, my boy!'-The old man is mad. Is this a time for me to court his daughter? I have fifty things to attend to-my wine and beer to bottle; two casks of sugar to get in; a fishing-party on the Marne; and, above all, Mademoiselle Papillon to take to the Château Rouge. Seriously, could a worse time have been chosen?

The visit of Clarisse took place nevertheless. Her stay was not long. The first day she spent dismally at her aunt's, who happened to be too ill to go out, waiting for her lover to come and see her. He sent word by a stout Lorraine girl who served in the shop, that he was compelled to go to Bercy to taste wine; but the stupid or unfaithful messenger let out that this was the day appointed for the great fishing-excursion, which could not by any possibility be put off. Clarisse, who did not suspect that Mademoiselle Papillon was of the party, half forgave Joseph, although she observed it would have been better had he told the truth. Next morning, she anxiously waited his coming, and no doubt expected to see a fine dashing young fellow, polished quite into a Parisian, as he ought to have been in two years. Places grow larger, and men and women more beautiful, in memory. The Joseph that was in Clarisse's mind did not at all resemble the Joseph that started from Le Buisson to make his fortune. Much less did he resemble the great awkward lout, who suddenly made his appearance, actually without taking off his cap, in a dirty blouse, and with thick shoes, which the dandies of Le Buisson would have despised. Clarisse looked inquiringly at her aunt, who was sitting in a sick-chair near the window, to know who this might be. She had yet to learn, that the provincials who come up to Paris to make money in trade, almost always preserve

the same coarseness of demeanour they bring with them, or even deteriorate. They seem to take a pride in doing so. Perhaps they feel that it is too late for them to learn good manners, and like the awkward boy—the example of a school-become more awkward from consciousness. At anyrate, Clarisse did not recognise Joseph until he, with a vulgar grin, came up to take hold of her as his property, and kiss her. She stepped for protection behind a chair, and concealed her inclination to cry under a laugh. Has the reader ever had a pail of cold water thrown over him just as he stepped out into the street on his way to a ball? If so, he can have some idea of what Clarisse felt-except that his clothes only were spoiled, whilst all the hopes of her youth were suddenly overwhelmed.

However, knowing the wishes of her parents, she tried, when the first moment of surprise was over, to talk cheerfully to Joseph, and instinctively turned the conversation to the price of butter and eggs. These were subjects that interested Joseph, and a very animated dialogue ensued. Not a word of affection was said on either side, except that the big-boned grocer, on going away, giggled out something about the necessity of his sending a nosegay; and, accordingly, despatched the Lorraine an hour afterwards with three sous' worth of faded flowers, bought, after a hard bargain, at a neighbouring fruiterer's shop. Clarisse threw them out of the window. That is very wrong,' said her aunt faintly.

'What would you have done in my place, and at my age?' inquired Clarisse, looking full at her.

I would have thrown them out, too,' was the reply.

That evening Clarisse might have damaged her reputation for ever. Fearing that Joseph would return-as, indeed, he did— she went out with a merry cousin, married to a pastry-cook living in another quarter, and was very nearly induced to go into one of the public balls that attract the passers-by by their boisterous music and illuminated doorways. However, the reason that her less scrupulous companion gave-namely, that admission was gratis for ladies-effectually deterred her albeit this objection her worthy relative did not understand. She came back to her aunt's, quite flurried with the danger she had run, with perhaps some slight regret that the rules of propriety prevented her from witnessing those wonderful revels of which all male visitors to Paris spoke in such rapturous terms.

III.

The sentimental reader will easily forgive us, if we do not give a very detailed account of the way in which Joseph, during the next three or four days, contrived to let Clarisse understand, that now that he was well to do in the world, he should expect a more respectable dowry than had been agreed upon in former times. The poor girl had every inclination in the world to tell him not to

trouble himself on that point, for that she was not for him. However, she restrained herself, resolving, on her return to Le Buisson, to throw herself in her mother's arms, and declare, that on no account whatever would she consent to tie herself to a man whom she now detested in proportion to her former love. She knew that it would be a hard matter to make her father enter into her feelings, because he would look principally on the pecuniary side of the transaction. The French peasant has many good qualities, but he is the most sordid being on the face of the earth. In his view, a man who has de quoi (wherewith), that is, plenty of money, is alone estimable. Old Claudet was no exception; and his daughter knew that, without the interference of maternal authority, her sentimental objections would be laughed at and disregarded.

On the day on which we have introduced Clarisse to the reader, she was preparing to return home by the steamer that starts from the Hôtel de Ville at two o'clock in the afternoon. Her aunt was too ill to accompany her, and so she had taken a large basket with her, and had laid out several francs in buying cherries, as a present to her parents. This will seem like carrying coals to Newcastle; but all round Paris, both flowers and fruit are supplied by the Halle. Besides, everything that comes from the capital is considered superexcellent; and we have known instances in which Bordeaux wine has been sent as a present from Paris to Bordeaux.

Clarisse was making her purchase when Joseph passed by, tardily on his way to bid her adieu. The fact was, that by a singular chance he had another engagement that day-namely, to make a late breakfast with his butterman at a restaurant on the Boulevards. Breakfasts are not uncommon things, and the idea did suggest itself to him, that he might put this one off. But he could not make up his mind, and almost missed the opportunity of seeing his affianced before she went. It must not be supposed that her beauty produced no impression on him; and when he saw her busily engaged in putting the cherries into the basket, the thought suddenly came over him, how happy he might be with a charming little wife like this behind his counter. If he had believed that there was the slightest difficulty in the case, it would have been better for him; but, although Clarisse had treated him with supreme indifference, he was perfectly convinced that she might be his whenever he chose. On this rock he split; and when he had gruffly saluted the girl, the idea of the breakfast that was waiting for him, and the good wine to be drunk with it, all at somebody else's expense-a great consideration-flashed across his mind. He could not conceal, while he attempted to say a few civil things, that his thoughts were elsewhere. For this, however, Clarisse cared very little. Her determination was come to; and, to speak the truth, she fervently wished that Joseph might say something rude to her, that she might have an additional excuse for complaint. She was delighted, therefore, when, in consequence

No. 59.

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