day; the little ones grew and prattled; the money came of itself to our box; good luck shone upon us like a cloudless sun. I can say that this time was the happiest of all my life, for it was then that I best felt God's kindness. At length one gets accustomed to happiness and claims it as the payment of a debt, instead of receiving it as a gift; but then I was not spoiled by Providence; I had still upon my lips the bitterness of pain and misery, which made me feel all the better the good taste of the bread of prosperity. CHAPTER XIII PROSPEROUS YEARS HE first five years of our establishment at Montmorency have not left many recollections. I simply recall that work became more and more plentiful, and those who had the appearance of scorning me when I first came no lon ger passed me without carrying their hands to their hats. I was thenceforth a personage in the country. Having leased the building-yard of my old competitor I was established there with Geneviève. We had carpeted the house, repainted the old ceilings, hung the windows with white curtains, planted Bengal roses on both sides of the door. One corner of the lot had been set off into a garden. There my wife planted flowers and dried her linen; she had caught there a stray swarm of bees which at length gave us many hives. Our son and daughter grew like poplars, running among our flower-borders and singing in a way to silence the birds. Tranquillity and happiness had settled upon our home. I recollect this time only by a vexation which very soon became a pleasure. It was at the birth of the little Marianne. We had for neighbor a Paris lady worth one hundred thousand francs, and good in proportion-a true providence for all who approached her. I had built walls in her park to her entire satisfaction, and she had, besides, taken a liking for Geneviève, who had laundered her linen. So two or three months before the birth of the little one she asked to be its godmother-an offer which the mother and I gratefully accepted. The child came into the world with good promise of living; and I was in the happiness of the first moment when Mauricet visited us. I had not seen the master-workman since his unhappy experience in Paris; but I knew that the contractor who employed him had made his place comfortable, and that he had once more taken up life with a good heart. Indeed, I found him as talkative, as jovial, and as active as in his best days; age had simply made him a little stouter. He embraced us again and again, and could not keep from weeping. "I have seen your yard," he said to me, both hands resting upon my shoulders, with his humid eyes close to mine; "it seems that you are making things go, my boy. You are making provisions for the winter of old age. That is well, my fine fellow! The success of friends does me good!" I answered him that everything, indeed, went forward as I wished, and I rapidly explained to him my position. He listened to me, seated near the bed of Geneviève, our little Jacques upon his knees, and looking at the new arrival which slept in its cradle. "Well, hurrah!" he cried, when I had finished; "brave people ought to prosper; that does honor to the good God! I wanted to know where you were, and that is why I have asked of the patron a few holidays." "So you will remain with us," said Geneviève, with a visible satisfaction. "If that is what you wish," replied Mauricet. “I have come only to see you. After so long a separation I hungered and thirsted for you." He took me again by the hands. "And then," he added, turning toward my wife, “I knew that there was a little one in the cradle, and I have nursed an idea-an idea which has rejoiced me for three months." "What idea?" asked Geneviève. "That of bringing you a godfather for the infant." "A godfather?" "And behold him!" he finished, slapping his breast. "You will never find one of better will, nor one who loves you more." Geneviève could not restrain an uneasy movement, and we exchanged glances; Mauricet noticed it. "Have I come too late?" he demanded. "Have you already chosen?" "A godfather-no," stammered the mother; "we have only a godmother." "Then that is right," resumed the master-workman. "You will present her to me. Meeting you again here, you see, gives me a taste for mirth. We must enjoy ourselves to the utmost! I wish a model baptism, with sugar-plums and rabbit-stew. Ah! come now, the godmother is not disagreeable at least?" I replied with a little embarrassment that it was Madame Lefort, our rich neighbor. "A lady!" repeated Mauricet; "excuse her insignificance a little. Here is an honor! Then I must know how to carry myself. But be calm; I know how to have a certain style upon occasions. I will buy a pair of knit gloves!" We had not had time to reply when the neighbor herself entered. I was for a moment speechless; Geneviève raised herself in bed. The position became truly embarrassing. It was becoming still more so, when Madame Lefort recalled the promise which she had made us, and declared that she had come to have an understanding with us in regard to the godfather. "What!" exclaimed Mauricet, straightening himself; "a godfather? Present! I have come for that from Burgundy. Is this madame whom I see and who ought to be my friend? I am delighted with the favor! We must have an understanding about the sugar-plums." Madame Lefort looked at us in astonishment. Geneviève had become very red, and picked at the down of her coverlet without daring to raise her eyes. There was a continued silence, during which Mauricet, who noticed nothing, trotted Jacques upon his knee to the familiar ditty: "To Paris, to Paris, Upon a horse of brown." "This changes everything," the neighbor finally said in a tone a little dry. "I came to propose naming the |