"Cher petit oreiller, doux et chaud sous ma tête, Plein de plume choisie, et blanc, et fait pour moi, Quand on a peur du vent, des loups, de la tempête, Cher petit oreiller, que l'on dort bien sur toi! Beaucoup, beaucoup d'enfants pauvres et nus, sans mère, Sans maison, n'ont jamais d'oreiller pour dormir; Ils ont toujours sommeil.... O destinée amère! Cela, douce maman, cela me fait gémir.... Et, quand j'ai prié Dieu pour tous ces petits anges Qui n'ont point d'oreiller, moi, j'embrasse le mien, Et, seul en mon doux nid, qu'à tes pieds tu m'arranges, Je te bénis, ma mère, et je touche le tien! Je ne m'éveillerai qu'à la lueur première De l'aube au rideau bleu; c'est si beau de la voir! Je vais faire, tout has, ma plus tendre prière; Donne encore un baiser, douce maman; bonsoir! PRIÈRE "Dieu des enfants! le cœur d'une petite fille, Plein de prière, écoute, est ici dans tes mains. Hélas! on m'a parlé d'orphelins sans famille; Dans l'avenir, mon Dieu, ne fais plus d'orphelins! Laisse descendre, au soir, un ange qui pardonne, Pour répondre à des voix que l'on entend gémir; Mets, sous l'enfant perdu que sa mère abandonne, Un petit oreiller qui le fera dormir!" Madame Desbordes-Valmore was born at Douai. "I was my mother's last born, and her only fair child," she wrote to me once, "and I was christened with special honours on account of the colour of my hair, which was much admired in my mother's case. She was as beautiful as a Madonna, and everybody hoped I should be like her in everything; but I only resembled her slightly, and if I have ever been loved, it has certainly been for other attractions than great beauty. My father was a heraldic painter; he also painted arms on carriages and church decorations. His house was close to the cemetery of the lowly parish of Notre-Dame de Douai. I thought the dear old house very big when I quitted it at the age of seven; but I have since seen it, and it is one of the smallest and meanest in the town. All the same, I love it better than any other place in the whole world, for I have never really had such peace and happiness as there. Then, suddenly, came great and overwhelming misery, when my father could get no more carriages to paint or coats of arms to design.... I was four when France was going through the period of its greatest troubles. My father's great-uncles, who had been previously exiled to Holland, at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, offered their immense inheritance to us if we would renounce the Catholic faith for Protestantism. These two uncles were centenarians and lived in Amsterdam, unmarried, where they had established a publishing-house. I possess some books printed by them in my poor little library. A family council was called. My mother wept sorely; my father was in a state of vacillation and kissed us. Finally, the inheritance was declined from