ord, but he did not give me a chance.

"'And I say this: that I am going to send you to jail; and it will not take a very
long time! It is just the hour for the patrol wagon! Who on earth sent me up this
dummy? Ah! you want to put on airs! Ah! you want to jeer at me, and at the law that
I represent! Very well! you came to the wrong place!'

"He brought down his fist violently on the papers lying on his table with each of
his sentences, adding:

"'Do I know you? Do I know who you are? You say that your name is Bréloc; I don't
know anything about it! You say that you live at the Place Blanche. Where are the
proofs of it? You say that you have twelve thousand francs income. Am I bound to
believe you? Show me your twelve thousand francs! Hein! you would have a hard job
to show them to me.'

"I was stunned.

"'All this is not very clear,' he concluded violently. 'I say, do you understand
me, that it is not very clear, and I don't know if you did not steal it, that
watch!'

BY ALPHONSE ALLAIS

Translated by Emil Friend.

Copyright, 1892, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.

I stepped upon the platform at Baisenmoyen-Cert station, where my friend Lenfileur

awaited me with his carriage.

While on the train I suddenly recollected something that required immediate

attention at Paris. Upon my arrival at Baisenmoyen-Cert, I went to the telegraph
office to send back a message.

This station differed from others of its class because of the total lack of writing
materials.

After a prolonged exploration, I finally succeeded in capturing a rusty pen,

dipping it in some colorless, slimy fluid. With heroic effort I succeeded in
daubing down the few words of my telegram. A decidedly unprepossessing woman
grudgingly took the despatch, counted it, and named the rate, which I immediately
paid.

With the relieved conscience of having fulfilled a duty, I was about to walk out
when my attention was attracted by a young lady at one of the tables manipulating a
Morse key. With slight hauteur she turned her back toward me.

Was she young? Probably. She certainly was red-haired. Was she pretty? Why not? Her
simple black dress advantageously displayed a round, agreeable form; her luxuriant
hair was arranged so as to reveal a few ringlets and a splendid white neck. And
suddenly a mad, inexplicable desire to plant a kiss upon those golden ringlets
seized me. In the expectation that the young lady would turn round, I stopped and
asked the elderly woman a few questions anent telegraph affairs. Her replies were
not at all friendly.

The other woman, however, did not stir.

Whoever supposes that I did not go to the telegraph office the next morning does
not know me.
The pretty, red-haired one was alone this time.

Now she was compelled to show her face, and, Sapristi! I could not complain.

I purchased some telegra

"'Steal it!'

"'Yes, steal it! Anyhow, I am going to find out.'

"The gendarmes, hearing the noise, had come into the room. He called out to them:

"'Search this man!'

"In a second they undressed me completely, even down to my socks.

"'Ah! you want to be smart!' the commissaire repeated mockingly. 'Ah! you want to
play smart! Look under his arms,' he said to the gendarmes. 'Search him well!'"

At the recital of these indignities Bréloc's voice became overexcited. But I was
laughing, nodding my head approvingly, because I could recognize in his recital the
two implacable enemies of honest folk—the administration and the law.

"Let me find another watch!" roared my unfortunate friend, with a closed fist as if
threatening the future.

A YOUNG GIRL'S DIARY

BY MARCEL PRÉVOST
ilosto15

Marcel Prévost, a student of the psychology of women, born at Paris in 1862, is a

graduate of the Polytechnic School, and was for several years connected with the
manufacturing of tobacco. He retired from business in 1890 after having published
three novels, and then wrote "Les Demi Vierges," which he turned into a successful
play, and other novels, besides "Lettres de Femme," etc., and "Les Lettres à
Françoise," 1902, intended for the instruction of young girls.

Prévost's great strength lies in his weakness. He is a facile analyst of sentiment,

delicate and graceful. He does not lack a certain amount of vigor either—in "Le
Scorpion" this vigor approaches brutality, in "Mademoiselle Jauffre" it is
strength.
iloau15

A YOUNG GIRL'S DIARY

BY MARCEL PRÉVOST

Translated by Mrs. Clay C. MacDonald.

Copyright, 1899, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.
MY SUITORS

November —, 18—.

Just as I was going up to my room, Monday night, mama kissed me, and said in the
severe tone which she reserves for communications touching my marriage: "Juliette,
two gentlemen will dine with us Thursday. Consider it settled. You know what you
must do." I considered it settled, certainly; but mama was mistaken in one thing—I
was in absolute ignorance as to what I must do. What is there for a young girl to
do from Monday till Thursday, when she is to be inspected by two suitors for her
hand? I can not change in face or form, and I really haven't the time to learn a
new language, one of those tongues which possess, so mama says, such a powerful
attraction for marriageable men! Nor have I even the time to order a new gown. I
have decided, therefore, to remain just as I am, and to present to those gentlemen
Thursday evening the Juliette of Monday, with her pink and white complexion, her
five feet four of stature, and the two poor little living languages which she
murders atrociously.

Who are these gentlemen? I have a faint suspicion.

Mama will not tell me their names, for she fears my preliminary criticisms. Usually
I sit upon her candidates so thoroughly beforehand that she dares not exhibit them.
"They are charming men," she declares; "charming, that expresses it. Much too good
for a madcap like you. One of them is no longer young; but the other is not yet
thirty." That mama of mine has such an adorable way of putting things! She regards
my suitors collectively, offsetting the faults of the one with the good qualities
of the other. Would she like to have me marry all of them at once, I wonder?

Papa gave me more information. I do anything I choose with papa by a walk to the
Champs Elysées in the morning, or a stroll on the boulevards about five o'clock. I
walk along with my hands clasped around his right arm, clinging to him, my large
gray eyes raised to his white beard as if in adoration. People nudge each other as
we pass, and how papa straightens up, and how happy he is! In these moments, if I
were not a good girl, I could have my allowance doubled, or all the diamonds in the
shop windows. It was on returning from just such a stroll that I questioned my dear
old papa about the two musketeers that are to open fire next Thursday. Immediately
he grew grave and answered:

"They are two charming men—charming, that expresses it. Much too good for a—"

"Madcap like me. Agreed. Why do you let mama put things into your head, you, who
have such sound judgment? It is shameful!"

Now, nothing irritates papa so much as the discovery of mama's exaggerated

influence over him.

"Put things into my head! Put things into my head, indeed! I will not permit you to
say that your mother puts things into my head. I can judge men at a glance. The
duke (papa was a prefect under the Empire) used always to say: 'Givernay—he is my
hand and eye.' Do you know that, little one?" I should think I know the saying of
the duke. At the age of three I had already heard it told so often in the family
that I never said "papa" without immediately adding "hand," "eye."

"Why, papa dear, you know very well that I am of the duke's opinion, and that is
the reason I want you to guide me a little with your experience. I am not a judge
of men myself, and suppose both these gentlemen should please me next Thursday?"

Evidently this contingency had not been thought of. And, nevertheless, suppose I
should be smitten with both of them, with the one who is no longer young, and with
him who is not yet thirty? Papa's eye, celebrated by Morny, grew large and round.

He reflected.

How amused I was!

"These two gentlemen," said he finally, "are certainly both capable of pleasing.
However, I know one of them better, and therefore am disposed to favor him. He is a
companion of the Imperial, Monsieur de Nivert, forty-three, cultured and high-
spirited."

"What does he do?"

Papa wrinkled his brow and racked his brain in an endeavor to think what Monsieur
de Nivert could possibly do; after which he concluded, pitiably enough:

"I believe he doesn't do anything!"

And then he immediately resorted to mama's mode of defense; he considered the two
collectively.

"But, on the other hand," said he, "the other gentleman is a young man with a
brilliant future. He is Judge of the Exchequer, and not yet thirty. Just think of
it! Gaston Salandier will be director-general of a great administration some day,
or a minister, perhaps. And then he is very good looking."

Poor Monsieur de Nivert! It seems after all that his most brilliant qualities are
possessed by Monsieur Salandier! This freak of Dame Fortune begins to make me
sympathetic.

"But," said I, after a few moments' reflection, "it seems to me that mama was
hesitating among four possible matches for me, and not between two."

Papa smiled.