She lives a lonely, innocent life in the midst of corruption, like the lilies I find here in the marshew, and I have great pity for her.

'God defend her,' I said to-night to a fellow clerk, 'I see no help for her.' I know there is a natural, and I think proper, horror of mixed blood (excuse the mention, sweet mother), and I feel it, too; and yet if she were in Holland today, not one of a hundred suitors would detect the hidden blemish." In such strain this young man wrote on trying to demonstrate the utter impossibility of his ever loving the lovable unfortunate, until the midnight tolling of the cathedral clock sent him to bed.
About the same hour Zalli and 'Tite Poulette were kissing good-night.
"'Tite Poulette, I want you to promise me one thing." "Well, Maman ?" "If any gentleman should ever love you and ask you to marry,--not knowing, you know,--promise me you will not tell him you are not white." "It can never be," said 'Tite Poulette.
"But if it should," said Madame John pleadingly.
"And break the law ?" asked 'Tite Poulette, impatiently.
"But the law is unjust," said the mother.
"But it is the law!" "But you will not, dearie, will you ?" "I would surely tell him!" said the daughter.
When Zalli, for some cause, went next morning to the window, she started.
"'Tite Poulette!"-- she called softly without moving.

The daughter came.
The young man, whose idea of propriety had actuated him to this display, was sitting in the dormer window, reading.

Mother and daughter bent a steady gaze at each other.

It meant in French, "If he saw us last night!"-- "Ah! dear," said the mother, her face beaming with fun-- "What can it be, Maman ?" "He speaks--oh! ha, ha!--he speaks--such miserable French!" It came to pass one morning at early dawn that Zalli and 'Tite Poulette, going to mass, passed a cafe, just as--who should be coming out but Monsieur, the manager of the _Salle de Conde_.