During her stay at Lizerolles, which her perverseness, her resentment, and a repugnance founded on instincts of delicacy, had made her prefer to a journey to Italy, Jacqueline, having nothing better to do, took it into her head to write to her friend Fred. The young man received three letters at three different ports in the Mediterranean and in the West Indies, whose names were long associated in his mind with delightful and cruel recollections.  When the first was handed to him with one from his mother, whose letters always awaited him at every stopping-place, the blood flew to his face, his heart beat violently, he could have cried aloud but for the necessity of self-command in the presence of his comrades, who had already remarked in whispers to each other, and with envy, on the pink envelope, which exhaled ‘l’odor di femina’.  He hid his treasure quickly, and carried it to a spot where he could be alone; then he kissed the bold, pointed handwriting that he recognized at once, though never before had it written his address.  He kissed, too, more than once, the pink seal with a J on it, whose slender elegance reminded him of its owner.  Hardly did he dare to break the seal; then forgetting altogether, as we might be sure, his mother’s letter, which he knew beforehand was full of good advice and expressions of affection, he eagerly read this, which he had not expected to receive: 

“Lizerolles, October, 5, 188-

   “My dear Fred: 

“Your mother thinks you would be pleased to receive a letter from me, and I hope you will be.  You need not answer this if you do not care to do so.  You will notice, ‘par parenthese’, that I take this opportunity of saying you and not thou to you.  It is easier to change the familiar mode of address in writing than in speaking, and when we meet again the habit will have become confirmed.  But, as I write, it will require great attention, and I can not promise to keep to it to the end.  Half an hour’s chat with an old friend will also help me to pass the time, which I own seems rather long, as it is passed by your sweet, dear mother and myself at Lizerolles.  Oh, if you were only here it would be different!  In the first place, we should talk less of a certain Fred, which would be one great advantage.  You must know that you are the subject of our discourse from morning to night; we talk only of the dangers of the seas, the future prospects of a seaman, and all the rest of it.  If the wind is a little higher than usual, your mother begins to cry; she is sure you are battling with a tempest.  If any fishing-boat is wrecked, we talk of nothing but shipwrecks; and I am asked to join in another novena, in addition to those with which we must have already wearied Notre Dame de Treport.  Every evening we spread out the map:  ’See, Jacqueline, he must be here now—­no, he is almost there,’ and lines of red ink are traced from one port to another, and little crosses are made to show the places where