I remember I used to make my little sister, now dead, put on a man's hat and pretend we were monsieur and madame.

You see, you had a very happy youth in Frankfort; but let us be just,--Modeste is living here without the slightest amusement.

Although, to be sure, her every wish is attended to, still she knows she is shut up and watched, and the life she leads would give her no pleasure at all if it were not for the amusement she gets out of her books.

Come, don't worry yourself; she loves nobody but you.

You ought to be very glad that she goes into these enthusiasms for the corsairs of Byron and the heroes of Walter Scott and your own Germans, Egmont, Goethe, Werther, Schiller, and all the other 'ers.'" "Well, madame, what do you say to that ?" asked Dumay, respectfully, alarmed at Madame Mignon's silence.
"Modeste is not only inclined to love, but she loves some man," answered the mother, obstinately.
"Madame, my life is at stake, and you must allow me--not for my sake, but for my wife, my colonel, for all of us--to probe this matter to the bottom, and find out whether it is the mother or the watch-dog who is deceived." "It is you who are deceived, Dumay.