Now and then, the Committee visits Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre at her farm; and on their return a general meeting is held in the Taverne Lorraine—with Paul in the chair, Paul on the health, appearance and pastimes of Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre. Paul on the foster-mother, on the farm; Paul, also, on Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s diet. Paul, finally, on Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s approaching birthday. And, indeed, on each of her birthdays, the students’ adopted Daughter receives gifts and an address; and on Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, more gifts; and upon every visit of the Committee, a souvenir of some kind or another. Explains Paul most wisely: “Children like that.” Ah me, the responsibility, the anxiety of having a Daughter! The moment comes when she has measles and chicken-pox; and then, what dark days for the father. And Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre is no exception; Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre has chicken-pox, has measles. In the Latin Quarter, alarm and emotion. All Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s many fathers _énervés_ and agitated. All the fathers suggesting precautions and remedies. All the fathers trying to remember what their parents did when they had chicken-pox and measles. Does the Committee study books on those diseases? At all events, the Committee is in constant communication with the farm. Also, the Committee proceeds solemnly to the farm. The telegram to Paris: “No complications. Malady following its ordinary course.” Another telegram: “Think it wiser to remain the night.” A third telegram: “Good night. Took nourishment this morning.” And in the _Etudiant_ and the _Cri du Quartier_, the brilliant organs of the Quarter, the announcement in large type: “We rejoice to announce that the adopted Daughter of the students of the Latin Quarter is now allowed to take air in her garden. To all her fathers she returns her warmest thanks for their sympathy, messages and offerings. But the quite unusual number of her fathers render it impossible to thank each one of them individually.” Follows Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s signature, the scrawling letters, L. B., faithfully reproduced. Says Paul: “I gave her a pencil-box. Children adore that.” However, four years have elapsed since Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre pained her many dear fathers by having chicken-pox. To-day, she has turned eleven, but she still resides far away from “the pernicious influences and surroundings of the city.” Says Paul: “Country air is still indispensable.” Says Gaston: “Always milk and eggs.” Says Pierre: “Honest folk about her.”