has now twice invaded the sanctity of this place; I have also met in society the object at whom these vulgar attempts are aimed. Her exquisite superiority and innate refinement ought, one would think, to scare impertinence from her very idea. It is not so, however; and innocent, unsuspicious as she is, I would guard her from evil if I could. In person, however, I can do nothing. I cannot come near her.” He paused.

“Well, I am willing to help you,” said I. “Only tell me how.” And busily, in my own mind, I ran over the list of our inmates, seeking this paragon, this pearl of great price, this gem without flaw. “It must be madame,” I concluded. “She only, amongst us all, has the art even to seem superior. But as to being unsuspicious, inexperienced, etc., Dr. John need not distract himself about that. However, this is just his whim, and I will not contradict him. He shall be humoured. His angel shall be an angel.”

“Just notify the quarter to which my care is to be directed,” I continued gravely, chuckling, however, to myself over the thought of being set to chaperon Madame Beck or any of her pupils.

Now Dr. John had a fine set of nerves, and he at once felt by instinct what no more coarsely constituted mind would have detected—namely, that I was a little amused at him. The colour rose to his cheek. With half a smile he turned and took his hat; he was going. My heart smote me.

“I will—I will help you,” said I eagerly. “I will do what you wish. I will watch over your angel. I will take care of her. Only tell me who she is.”

“But you must know,” said he then with earnestness, yet speaking very low. “So spotless, so good, so unspeakably beautiful—impossible that one house should contain two like her! I allude, of course—”

Here the latch of Madame Beck’s chamber door (opening into the nursery) gave a sudden click, as if the hand holding it had been slightly convulsed. There was the suppressed explosion of an irrepressible sneeze. These little accidents will happen to the best of us. Madame, excellent woman, was then on duty! She had come home quietly, stolen upstairs on tiptoe; she was in her chamber. If she had not sneezed, she would have heard all, and so should I; but that unlucky sternutation routed Dr. John. While he stood aghast, she came forward alert, composed, in the best yet most tranquil spirits. No novice to her habits but would have thought she had just come in, and scouted the idea of her ear having been glued to the keyhole for at least ten minutes. She affected to sneeze again, declared she was “enrhumée,” and then proceeded volubly to recount her “courses en fiacre.” The prayer-bell rang, and I left her with the doctor.