"How merry we shall be!" Julien exclaimed; "and awhile ago we talked of
passing the night in the Bois! It only shows you that one can never
tell what an hour may bring forth."
"Yes, yes," assented Juliette blithely. "And as for the supper--"
"We shall not require it till nine o'clock at the earliest."
"And now it is no more than midday. Why, there is an eternity for
things to arrange themselves!"
"Just so. The sky may rain truffles in such an interval," said the
painter. And they drew their chairs closer to the fire, and pretended
to each other that they were not hungry.
The hours crept past, and the sunshine waned, and snow began to flutter
over Paris. But no truffles fell. By degrees the fire burnt low, and
died. To beg for more fuel was impossible, and Juliette shivered a
little.
"You are cold, sweetheart," sighed Julien. "I will fetch a blanket from
the bed and wrap you in it."
"No," she murmured, "wrap me in your arms--it will be better."
Darker and darker grew the garret, and faster and faster fell the snow.
"I have a fancy," said Juliette, breaking a long silence, "that it is
the hour in which a fairy should appear to us. Let us look to see if
she is coming!"
They peered from the window, but in the twilight no fairy was to be
discerned; only an "old clo'" man was visible, trudging on his round.
"I declare," cried Julien, "he is the next best thing to your fairy! I
will sell my summer suit and my velvet jacket.
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