hour!"

"I thank heaven that I arrived in time to offer you my assistance!"

"Sapristi! you went about it in the right way. You seemed to be at home! How you handle your sword! I think that my knaves went off with the marks you made on them."

"It would be a great pity if I did not know how to fight. When one has had the honor of serving under the great Henri IV; when one has fought under him at Arques and Ivry——"

"Do you say that you served with the good king who wanted all his subjects to have a fowl to put in the pot? Shake hands! I am doubly happy to have met you; and, with your permission, I consider myself from this moment one of your friends."

"With all my heart, for you too are a brave man; I saw that by the way you defended yourself against those cutthroats. And yet, you had no weapons."

"Well! I did my best. Besides—I can afford to confess it, now that it's all over—those thieves surprised me rather easily, because I was a little—er—tipsy. I was on my way home from a new wine shop just opened in the Cité. The wine was good—it always is good in a new place—and we did not spare it. When I set out to go home, I missed my way—for the devil take me if I know where I am now!"

"At the Carrefour de Bussy; see, this is the street leading from the Porte de Bussy to the Pré-aux-Clercs."

"In God's name, what road did I take?—I, who live on Rue Saint-Jacques, corner of Rue des Mathurins, where I have baths, hot and cold—Master Hugonnet, at your service; for it is right that you should know whose life you have saved."

"You are a bath keeper?—Pardieu! this is a strange meeting! I, too, am one—Master Landry, Rue Dauphine, near Quai Conti."

"Is it possible!—you are the bath keeper on Rue Dauphine? I have heard of you.—You have a wife, I am a widower. You have a daughter, and so have I. How old is yours?"

"Twelve years."

"So is mine. Parbleu! confrère, our daughters must be friends, as their fathers will be; are you willing?"

"Shake hands, ventre-saint-gris! as our good king used to say."

The two bath keepers shook hands once more. Landry started Hugonnet on the right road, and they returned to their respective homes.

This meeting took place about five years before the time at which our tale opens. Bathilde and Ambroisine were still children; people took little notice of them, for we do not pause to consider whether little girls of twelve are likely to be very beautiful some day. We prefer, and wisely, to wait until they have become so, before ogling them.

Dame Ragonde's surveillance was naturally less active then; being still a mere child, Bathilde enjoyed some liberty. So she was allowed to see her new friend, for Master Hugonnet did not fail to pay a visit to his confrère.

Landry was not expansive; he was not a frequenter of wine shops, and never drank too much; but when he had pressed anyone's hand in token of friendship, that person might be sure that he could rely upon the old soldier's assistance, upon his arm, under all circumstances.

Dame Ragonde had not looked with great pleasure upon this new intimacy contracted by her husband; but she knew that it would be useless for her to try to break it up. Landry was not one of those weathercocks who change their sentiments and affections according to the advice that is given them. The husband and wife each had a will of iron. A concession once made, neither of them attempted to encroach on the other's rights; it was doubtless to this mutual respect for each other's rights and each other's will that they were indebted for the peace which reigned in their household.

The two little girls very soon learned to love each other; there was between them just that difference in humor, in spirit, in temperament, which attracts and binds together, and leads to those strong and lasting attachments which defy time and the blows of fortune.—Observe that we are speaking of friendship, not of love. As to the last-named sentiment, we have never known an instance of it which resisted the slightest test of its strength, when that test was applied with skill!

That which people are pleased to call sympathy cannot be the similitude between two natures. For, put together two gossips, two testy or obstinate or irascible, quarrelsome and satirical characters, and see whether they will love each other, whether they will be able to live together. There would be a constant state of war.

On the contrary, nature created the strong to support the weak, patience to allay irascibility, gentleness to appease wrath, gayety to charm away melancholy.

Bathilde was shy and timid; she trembled at the slightest sharp word, and her gentle and affectionate nature was more inclined to melancholy than to gayety.

Ambroisine was of a very different temperament: active, merry, thoughtless, often angry; she said fearlessly whatever came into her head; frankness lay at the foundation of her character; her heart was susceptible, but it did not like to be sad for long. With her the tears came quickly and disappeared no less quickly.

When Bathilde seemed to be unhappy, when her lovely eyes seemed to express some hidden grief, her little friend would say to her:

"Somebody has been cross to you, I am sure. I can see that you have been crying. Tell me who made you cry, and I will go to him and make him come here and beg your pardon."

But Bathilde would simply look down and murmur:

"It was my mother."

"Did you do anything naughty?" Ambroisine would inquire.

"I asked her if I might go to see you soon."

Ambroisine would not dare to say anything more, but she would turn her head aside and furtively wipe away the tears that stood in her eyes; then she would again look at her friend, seize both her hands, and make her dance around the room, crying:

"You mustn't think about that any more!"

When the girls had reached their fourteenth year, Dame Ragonde began to think that Ambroisine was too lively, too mischievous, too self-willed, and that her companionship might be dangerous for her daughter; she would no longer allow her daughter to go to see her friend under the escort of a servant; she alleged as an excuse the necessity that Bathilde should study; and when Ambroisine came to see her, Dame Ragonde never left them together; she was always by to prevent those affectionate confidences which she believed to be dangerous. Her presence, her stern manner, her curt speech, froze Bathilde's heart, and she forced back those impulsive outbursts of affection which she would have liked to lavish on Ambroisine. But the latter, although disappointed at being unable to chat at her ease with little Bathilde, retained in Dame Ragonde's presence her playful humor, her vivacity, her frankness, and she often found a way to bring a smile to her young friend's lips.

And so, as soon as Master Hugonnet's daughter had left the house, Bathilde's mother never failed to exclaim:

"What an ill-bred child that is! What a bold-faced creature she will be some day! But, patience: I will put this matter to rights."

And as the girls grew older, they were allowed to see each other less and less. On Bathilde's side, the surveillance to which she was subjected became more minute; she seldom went out, and she paid no more visits. At Master Hugonnet's, on the other hand, Ambroisine, when she grew tall and strong, was placed by her father at the head of the establishment; and as a great many people came to the baths, she had little time left to give to friendship.

But as soon as Ambroisine had a moment to herself, she hastened to Rue Dauphine, to exchange a clasp of the hand with her friend.

Sometimes Dame Ragonde, who also had to overlook her apprentices and her servants, was busy at the baths, and Bathilde was alone in her bedroom. Then, what joy for the two friends! with what ardor they took