Suppose that we too take a trip in fancy to Nancy, in France, in search of poor De Vlierbeck and his daughter.

Let us wind through an immense number of narrow streets in the quarter known as the Old Town and at last halt at the door of an humble cobbler.

This is the place.

Pass through the shop, mount the staircase; another story yet; open that door, and here we are.
Every thing indicates poverty; but order and neatness preside over the room.

The curtains of the little bed are white as snow, the stove is polished with black-lead till it shines, and the floor is sanded in Flemish style.