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The unhappy wo herself upon that shoe; her consolation and her despair for so many years, and her vitals were rent with sobs as on the first day; because, for a mother who has lost her child, it is always the first day That grief never grows old The rohite and threadbare, the heart remains dark

At that moment, the fresh and joyous cries of children passed in front of the cell Every time that children crossed her vision or struck her ear, the poorherself into the darkest corner of her sepulchre, and one would have said, that she sought to plunge her head into the stone in order not to hear theht with a start, and listened eagerly One of the little boys had just said,-"They are going to hang a gypsy to-day"

With the abrupt leap of that spider which we have seen fling itself upon a fly at the tre of its web, she rushed to her air-hole, which opened as the reader knows, on the Place de Grève A ladder had, in fact, been raised up against the per hi the chains which had been rusted by the rain There were soroup of children was already far away The sacked nun sought with her eyes soht question All at once, beside her cell, she perceived a priestthe public breviary, but as much less occupied with the "lectern of latticed iron," than with the gallows, tohich he cast a fierce and gloonized monsieur the archdeacon of Josas, a holyyonder?"

The priest looked at her and made no reply; she repeated her question Then he said,-"I know not"

"Soypsy," went on the recluse

"I believe so," said the priest

Then Paquette la Chantefleurie burst into hyena-like laughter

"Sister," said the archdeacon, "do you then hate the gypsies heartily?"

"Do I hate them!" exclaimed the recluse, " they are vahter, er any heart, they devoured it!"

She was frightful The priest looked at her coldly

"There is one in particular who one, of the age which hter Every ti viper passes in front of my cell, she sets my blood in a ferment"