No, not exactly, but attractive rather than ugly, notwithstanding her infirmity, for she was lame, poor child! And then she was clever and bright, and so loving! No one but Desiree knew how fondly that little woman loved Frantz, and how she had thought of him night and day for years. He had not noticed it himself, but seemed to have eyes for nobody but Sidonie, a gamine. But no matter! Silent love is so eloquent, such a mighty power lies hid in restrained feelings. Who knows? Perhaps some day or other: And the little cripple, leaning over her work, started upon one of those long journeys to the land of chimeras of which she had made so many in her invalid’s easychair, with her feet resting on the stool; one of those wonderful journeys from which she always returned happy and smiling, leaning on Frantz’s arm with all the confidence of a beloved wife. As her fingers followed her thought, the little bird she had in her hand at the moment, smoothing his ruffled wings, looked as if he too were of the party and were about to fly far, far away, as joyous and light of heart as she. Suddenly the door flew open. “I do not disturb you?” said a triumphant voice. The mother, who was slightly drowsy, suddenly raised her head. “Ah! it’s Monsieur Frantz. Pray come in, Monsieur Frantz. We’re waiting for father, as you see. These brigands of artists always stay out so late! Take a seat--you shall have supper with him.” “Oh! no, thank you,” replied Frantz, whose lips were still pale from the emotion he had undergone, “I can’t stop. I saw a light and I just stepped in to tell you--to tell you some great news that will make you very happy, because I know that you love me--” “Great heavens, what is it?” “Monsieur Frantz Risler and Mademoiselle Sidonie are engaged to be married.” “There! didn’t I say that all he needed was a good little wife,” exclaimed Mamma Delobelle, rising and throwing her arms about his neck. Desiree had not the strength to utter a word. She bent still lower over her work, and as Frantz’s eyes were fixed exclusively upon his happiness, as Mamma Delobelle did nothing but look at the clock to see whether her great man would return soon, no one noticed the lame girl’s emotion, nor her pallor, nor the convulsive trembling of the little bird that lay in her hands with its head thrown back, like a bird with its death-wound. CHAPTER IV. THE GLOW-WORMS OF SAVIGNY “SAVIGNY-SUR-ORGE.