"Right! By way of losing no time, I gave one to M. Miret yesterday. Should you object to beginning with three petite bourgeoises, the Demoiselles Miret? They are at your service."
"Monsieur, you forget nothing; you are wonderful. Object? It would become me indeed to object! I suppose I hardly expect at the outset to number aristocrats in my little day-school; I care not if they never come. I shall be proud to receive M. Miret's daughters."
"Besides these," pursued he, "another pupil offers, who will come daily to take lessons in English; and, as she is rich, she will pay handsomely. I mean my god-daughter and ward, Justine Marie Sauveur."
What is in a name?—what in three words? Till this moment I had listened with living joy—I had answered with gleeful quickness; a name froze me; three words struck me mute. The effect could not be hidden, and indeed I scarce tried to hide it.
"What now?" said M. Paul.
"Nothing."
"Nothing! Your countenance changes; your colour and your very eyes fade. Nothing! You
