The friends went to bed that night very happy; Marcel to dream of that future garden, the aim of all his ambition, in which he wandered, hand in hand with the poor clerk, until the clarion sounded; Polycarpe to fancy himself marching, drums beating, colors flying, at the head of a regiment of Zouaves!
There is not a pleasanter place in Paris than the Garden of Plants—the people's delight and the people's own!
Who that has seen it in spring can forget its magnificent avenues of linden-trees, fragrant with the delicious perfume of the tassel-like blossoms; its grand old chestnut-trees, covered with spikes of creamy-white or rose-colored flowers; its lilac-bushes, its pear-trees, white with blossoms, as if they had been snowed on! And then the twitter of birds, mingled with the bleating of sheep and goats, and the soft lowing of cows! Delightful sights and sounds in the very heart of poor old Paris, close by the door of the hospital! 'Tis there that the pale Parisian workman spends his holiday with his wife and children; 'tis there the little ones learn to love and be gentle to God's creatures.
How pleasant it is in the warm summer-time, when the shady avenues are crowded with bands of happy children, jumping the rope or playing at hide-and-seek behind the thick trunks of the old trees planted by Buffon, while their smiling mothers sit near with their sewing. How beautiful then are the gay parterres of bright-colored flowers so skilfully grouped, so harmoniously contrasted! How interesting the rich botanic garden, where so many strange exotic plants, each with its common as well as scientific name legibly inscribed near it, can be freely and conveniently studied by all!
Who that has climbed the little hill, on whose summit stands the Cedar of Lebanon, and rested beneath the glorious spreading branches, has not felt it a heart-warming sight to watch the crowds of hard-working people rambling with their children amidst the trees and flowers of this magnificent garden; here stopping to feed the patient elephant, who seems to pass his life begging for bits of bread; here contemplating, with some aversion perhaps, the clumsy hippopotamus bathing its unwieldy form in its tank; then making a long pause before the monkeys' palace, where some twenty of those natural gymnasts excite roars of laughter by their tricks; and then again before the great cage of the many-colored parrots, that look to the delighted children like giant flying-flowers? And as they stroll along, the goats and sheep, and soft-eyed gazelles and fawns, that beg by the way, get each a few crumbs of black bread and many caresses; and the boys jest en passant with the bear at the bottom of his pit—"Old Martin" they call him—and they bribe him to climb the great pole placed expressly for him, with a bit of crust; and the little girls pity the eagle as they pass by his narrow grated prison. Sitting there under the cedar, the eye falls almost involuntarily on a group of pretty houses, nestled together in a corner not far from the Museums of Natural History. They are the residences of many of the professors attached to the Garden of Plants—professors of botany, of comparative anatomy, of mineralogy and geology, of natural history, etc.—men of world-wide reputations, whom the privileged inhabitants of Paris may hear lecture on these various sciences, in well-ventilated, well-warmed halls, twice every week, for nothing.
In an out of the way nook, but quite near to the homes of these celebrated men, there was one quaint, old-fashioned little house which, in the spring of the year 1859, had been appropriated as the dwelling of one of the head-gardeners, a young man of great intelligence in his profession, and who had lately been appointed to the situation.
It was a very little house, it is true, but large enough for the tenant and his young, newly-made wife, who thought it, for her part, the sweetest nest ever built. It was covered with climbing roses; they could scarcely be shut out by the windows and doors, so that it had received the name of "The House of the Roses." Outside, it needed no other ornament to be beautiful; inside, its charms were neatness, cheerfulness, cleanliness, and quiet.
But the afternoon that we present it to our readers the little house was in a bustle, for wife Gabrielle and her maid Marie were preparing a dinner far more elaborate than was usual in that simple household, and very anxious were the two little women that every dish should be worthy of the occasion, for the banquet was to feast the return of an old friend from the war in Italy.
The master of the house had but just got home from his daily occupations when there came a vigorous ring at the door, and he ran to open it.