'Good,' says the Duc de Mauban, when he hears, 'give me the honour, de Mauprat,' says he, 'for the sake of old days in France, to offer a name to the brave innocent--for the sake of old associations,' says de Mauban.

'You knew my wife, de Mauprat,' says he; 'you knew the Duchesse Guida-Guidabaldine.

She's been gone these ten years, alas! You were with me when we were married, de Mauprat,' says the Duc; 'I should care to return the compliment if you will allow me to offer a name, eh ?' 'Duc,' said I, 'there is no honour I more desire for my grandchild.' 'Then let the name of Guidabaldine be somewhere among others she will carry, and--and I'll not forget her, de Mauprat, I'll not forget her.'...

Eh, eh, I wonder--I wonder if he has forgotten the little Guidabaldine there?
He sent her a golden cup for the christening, but I wonder--I wonder--if he has forgotten her since?
So quick of tongue, so bright of eye, so light of foot, so sweet a face--if one could but be always young! When her grandmother, my wife, my Julie, when she was young--ah, she was fair, fairer than Guida, but not so tall--not quite so tall.

Ah!..." He was slipping away into sleep when he realised that Guida was singing "Spin, spin, belle Mergaton! The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, And your wedding-gown you must put it on Ere the night hath no moon in the sky-- Gigoton Mergaton, spin!" "I had never thought she was so much a woman," he said drowsily; "I--I wonder why--I never noticed it." He roused himself again, brushed imaginary snuff from his coat, keeping time with his foot to the wheel as it went round.