itself of the great man's catastrophe. Round its high-walled garden at all events he would have come and gone--a throb of inference that had for some years indeed to be postponed for me; though an association displacing to-day, over the whole spot, every other interest. I in any case can't pretend not to have been most appealed to by that especial phase of our education from which the pedagogic process as commonly understood was most fantastically absent. It excelled in this respect, the Fezandie phase, even others exceptionally appointed, heaven knows, for the supremacy; and yet its glory is that it was no poor blank, but that it fairly creaked and groaned, heatedly overflowed, with its wealth. We were _externes_, the three of us, but we remained in general to luncheon; coming home then, late in the afternoon, with an almost sore experience of multiplicity and vivacity of contact. For the beauty of it all was that the Institution was, speaking technically, not more a _pensionnat_, with prevailingly English and American pupils, than a _pension_, with mature beneficiaries of both sexes, and that our two categories were shaken up together to the liveliest effect. This had been M. Fezandie's grand conception; a son of the south, bald and slightly replete, with a delicate beard, a quick but anxious, rather melancholy eye and a slim, graceful, juvenile wife, who multiplied herself, though scarce knowing at moments, I think, where or how to turn; I see him as a Daudet _meridional_, but of the sensitive, not the sensual, type, as something of a rolling stone, rolling rather down hill--he had enjoyed some arrested, possibly blighted, connection in America--and as ready always again for some new application of faith and funds. If fondly failing in the least to see why the particular application in the Rue Balzac--the body of pensioners ranging from infancy to hoary eld--shouldn't have been a bright success could have made it one, it would have been a most original triumph.