she could have lived to see it; but she was gone, poor soul! out of a world of trouble.  And Monsieur plaintively fixed his eyes on the black crape upon his hat.  The unhappy exit took place a few months after my departure.  The children had gone to one or another relative.  Monsieur was all alone; he had been away since then himself, had been doing as well as a bereaved man could do, and, having saved a snug little sum, had returned to buy out the old stand, and reestablish himself in the old place.  No one was with him; he wished he could get a good hand to superintend the concern, now his own hands were so full.  It would be a good situation for somebody.  In short, Monsieur came again and again, until, as I was poor and lonely, and had almost overworked myself just to keep soul and body together, whose union, after all, was of no importance to any one save myself, and as I was quite glad to find some one else who was interested in the preservation of the partnership, I consented to be his wife.  It was a very sensible and philosophic arrangement for both of us.  We could make more money together than apart, and were stout and well able to help each other, if only well taken care of.  So we settled the business, and settled ourselves as partners in the saloon.

Three years had passed, and we were in the old place still.  We had been very busy that day.  Many orders to fill, many customers to wait upon.  Monsieur, completely worn out, was sound asleep on the sofa up-stairs.  It was late; I was very much fatigued, as I descended, according to my usual custom, to see that everything was safe about the house and shop.  The place was all shut and empty; the lights were all out.  A cushioned lounge in one corner of the saloon—­my saloon now—­attracted my weary limbs, and I threw myself upon it, setting the lamp upon a marble table by its side.  With a complacent sense of rest settling upon me, I drowsily looked about at the dim magnificence of loneliness which surrounded me.  The night-lamp made more shadow than shine; but even by its obscured rays one who had known the old place would have been struck with the wonderful improvement we had made.  So I thought.  It was almost like a palace, gilded, and mirrored, and hung with silken curtains.  Monsieur and I had thriven together, had worked hard and saved much these many years to produce the change.  But the change had been, as everything we effected was, well considered, and had proved very profitable in the end.  Better reception-rooms brought better customers; higher prices a higher class of patronage.  It was very pleasant, lying there, to reflect that we were actually succeeding in the world; and a pleasant and quiet mood fell upon me, as, hopeful of the future, I looked back at the past.  I thought of my old days in that saloon; I thought of little Jacques.  Little Jacques was still a thought of some horror to me, and I generally avoided any allusion to him.  But to-night, in this subdued and contemplative mood,