Loc cannot keep Abeille longer because of a law allowing mortals, prisoners of the Gnomes, to return to the world after seven years, so he betroths Georges and Abeille and gives them rich gifts, among which is a magic ring having power to bring Abeille and Georges at any time to visit the Gnome realm, where they will be always welcome. In the volumes, _Mother-of-Pearl_ (_L’Etui de Nacre_) and _St. Clara’s Well_ (_Le Puits de Sainte-Claire_), we find our author’s best short-story work. As has been noted in previous introductory papers of this series, there is a marked tendency among French writers of little fictions to affect the sketch form, and in this field they have wrought with great delicacy and spirit. It is hardly to be expected of a writer whose novels give so much play to epigram, philosophy, dialogue, and witty comment, that he should seek to tell his shorter stories with the compression of a Maupassant and the plot-structure of a Mérimée. But other qualities of the first-rate story-teller he does display--his narration is lively and witty, and his climaxes are satisfying. Only two of his short-stories can be given attention in this limited space, both found in the first-named volume, and one of them reproduced here in translation. “The Procurator of Judea” tells in the author’s leisurely, pellucid style how L. Ælius Lamia, after eighteen years of exile by Tiberius Cæsar, returns to Rome. During his years of sojourn in Asia, here and there, he has met Pontius Pilate. Now they meet again, and the physical bulk of the story is taken up by their reminiscences. Just when that seems to be all, they fall to discussing the charms of Judæan women, when Lamia recalls with especial warmth a dancing girl. “‘Some months after,’” he goes on, “‘I lost sight of her. I learned by chance that she had attached herself to a small company of men and women who were followers of a young Galilean thaumaturgist. His name was Jesus; he came from Nazareth, and he was crucified for some crime, I don’t know what. Pontius, do you remember anything about the man?’ “Pontius Pilate contracted his brows, and his hand rose to his forehead in the attitude of one who probes the deeps of memory. Then after a silence of some seconds-- “‘Jesus?’ he murmured. ‘Jesus of Nazareth? I cannot call him to mind.’” This dramatic episode, which exists only for its climax, is no more poignant than the pathos of that simple-hearted juggler-monk who imitated the Widow, in that he gave all that he had. JUGGLER TO OUR-LADY (_LE JONGLEUR DE NOTRE-DAME_) By Anatole France _Done into English by the Editor_ I.