I smiled then over this dose of maternal tenderness, coming from the ruddy old lady of the Seven Hills; smiled, too, at my own disinclination, not to say disability, to meet these melting favours. Glancing at the title-page, I found the name of “Père Silas.” A flyleaf bore in small, but clear and well-known pencil characters: “From P. C. D. E. to L⁠—y.” And when I saw this I laughed: but not in my former spirit. I was revived.