It was after the mumps, which we both had together in a double-bedded infirmerie next to the lingerie--a place where it was a pleasure to be ill; for she was in and out all day, and told us all that was going on, and gave us nice drinks and tisanes of her own making--and laughed at all Barty's jokes, and some of mine! And wore the most coquettish caps ever seen. Besides, she was an uncommonly good-looking woman--a tall blonde with beautiful teeth, and wonderfully genial, good-humored, and lively--an ideal nurse, but a terrible postponer of cures! Lord Archibald quite fell in love with her. "C'est moi qui voudrais bien avoir les oreillons ici!" he said to her. "Je retarderais ma convalescence autant que possible!" [Illustration: MADEMOISELLE MARCELINE] "Comme il sait bien le français, votre oncle--et comme il est poli!" said Marceline to the convalescent Barty, who was in no hurry to get well either! When we did get well again, Barty would spend much of his play-time fetching and carrying for Mlle. Marceline--even getting Dumollard's socks for her to darn--and talking to her by the hour as he sat by her pleasant window, out of which one could see the Arch of Triumph, which so triumphantly dominated Paris and its suburbs, and does so still--no Eiffel Tower can kill that arch! I, being less precocious, did not begin my passion for Mlle. Marceline till next year, just as Bonneville and Jolivet trois were getting over theirs. Nous avons tous passé par là! What a fresh and kind and jolly woman she was, to be sure! I wonder none of the masters married her. Perhaps they did! Let us hope it wasn't M. Dumollard! It is such a pleasure to recall every incident of this epoch of my life and Barty's that I should like to go through our joint lives day by day, hour by hour, microscopically--to describe every book we read, every game we played, every _pensum_ (_i.e._, imposition) we performed; every lark we were punished for--every meal we ate. But space forbids this self-indulgence, and other considerations make it unadvisable--so I will resist the temptation. La pension Brossard! How often have we both talked of it, Barty and I, as middle-aged men; in the billiard-room of the Marathoneum, let us say, sitting together on a comfortable couch, with tea and cigarettes--and always in French whispers! we could only talk of Brossard's in French. "Te rappelles-tu l'habit neuf de Berquin, et son chapeau haute-forme?" [Illustration: "'IF HE ONLY KNEW!'"] "Te souviens-tu de la vieille chatte angora du père Jaurion?" etc., etc., etc. Idiotic reminiscences! as charming to revive as any old song with words of little meaning that meant so much when one was four--five--six years old! Before one knew even how to spell them! "Paille à Dine--paille à Chine-- Paille à Suzette et Martine-- Bon lit à la Dumaine!" Céline, my nurse, used to sing this--and I never knew what it meant; nor do I now! But it was charming indeed.