merchandise, when I observed her handkerchief to escape from her hands and fall to the ground; the next moment the wind had taken it up and carried it within my reach. I was on foot at once: I had forgot my mustard-coloured clothes, I had forgot the private soldier and his salute. Bowing deeply, I offered her the slip of cambric. "Madam," said I, "your handkerchief. The wind brought it me." I met her eyes fully. "I thank you, sir," said she. "The wind brought it me," I repeated. "May I not take it for an omen? You have an English proverb, 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody good.'" "Well," she said, with a smile, "'One good turn deserves another.' I will see what you have." She followed me to where my wares were spread out under lee of a piece of cannon. "Alas, mademoiselle!" said I, "I am no very perfect craftsman. This is supposed to be a house, and you see the chimneys are awry. You may call this a box if you are very indulgent; but see where my tool slipped! Yes, I am afraid you may go from one to another, and find a flaw in everything. _Failures for Sale_ should be on my signboard. I do not keep a shop; I keep a Humorous Museum." I cast a smiling glance about my display, and then at her, and instantly became grave. "Strange, is it not," I added, "that a grown man and a soldier should be engaged upon such trash, and a sad heart produce anything so funny to look at?" An unpleasant voice summoned her at this moment by the name of Flora, and she made a hasty purchase and rejoined her party. A few days after she came again. But I must first tell you how she came to be so frequent. Her aunt was one of those terrible British old maids of which the world has heard much; and having nothing whatever to do, and a word or two of French, she had taken what she called an _interest in the French prisoners_. A big, bustling, bold old lady, she flounced about our market-place with insufferable airs of patronage and condescension. She bought, indeed, with liberality, but her manner of studying us through a quizzing-glass, and playing cicerone to her followers, acquitted us of any gratitude. She had a tail behind her of heavy, obsequious old gentlemen, or dull, giggling misses, to whom she appeared to be an oracle. "This one can really carve prettily: is he not a quiz with his big whiskers?" she would say. "And this one," indicating myself with her gold eye-glass, "is, I assure you, quite an oddity." The oddity, you may be certain, ground his teeth. She had a way of standing in our midst, nodding around, and addressing us in what she imagined to be French: "_Bienne, hommes! ca va bienne_?" I took the freedom to reply in the same lingo: "_Bienne, femme! ca va couci-couci tout d'meme, la bourgeoise_!" And at that, when we had all laughed, with a little more heartiness than was entirely civil, "I told you he was quite an oddity!" says she in triumph. Needless to say, these passages were before I had remarked the niece.