She showed me a small plot of garden, a fragment of
my old garden, that still remained, and where the old apple-tree might
still have been, but that it had been sawed away. I saw the stump; that
did duty for a rustic table.
Presently, looking over a new wall, I saw another small garden,
and in it the ruins of the old shed where I had found the toy
wheelbarrow--soon to disappear, as they were building there too.
I asked after all the people I could think of, beginning with those of
least interest--the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker.
Some were dead; some had retired and had left their "commerce" to their
children and children-in-law. Three different school-masters had kept
the school since I had left. Thank Heaven, there was still the
school--much altered, it is true. I had forgotten to look for it.
[Illustration: THE OLD APPLE-TREE.]
She had no remembrance of my name, or the Seraskiers'--I asked, with a
beating heart. We had left no trace. Twelve short years had effaced all
memory of us! But she told me that a gentleman, _decore, mais tombe en
enfance_, lived at a _maison de sante_ in the Chaussee de la Muette,
close by, and that his name was le Major Duquesnois; and thither I
went, after rewarding and warmly thanking her.
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