suffering that you must have endured only overtakes tender, delicate natures.”
“Therefore, my friends,” said the doctor, “a thing that would merely pain any other woman might kill my little Ursule. Ah! when I am no more, raise that protecting hedge between this dear flower and the world which is spoken of in Catullus’ verse: Ut flos, etc.”
“And yet these ladies were very flattering to you, Ursule,” said the justice of the peace, smiling.
“Coarsely flattering,” observed the Nemours doctor.
“I have always remarked coarseness in flattery made to order,” replied old Minoret, “and why?”
“A genuine thought bears its own delicacy,” said the abbé.
“You dined with Madame de Portenduère?” then said Ursule, questioning the Abbé Chaperon with a look full of anxious curiosity.
“Yes, the poor lady is much distressed, and it is possible that she may come to see you to-night, Monsieur Minoret.”
“If she is in trouble and has need of me, I will call upon her,” cried the doctor, “let us finish the last rubber.”
Under the table Ursule squeezed the old man’s hand.
“Her son,” said the justice of the peace, “was a little too simple to live in Paris without a mentor. When I knew that enquiries were being made at
