e.

"I'm coming directly: just you go first."

[Illustration: Crescence saw Florian sitting on a log.]

As she entered the garden, Crescence saw Florian sitting on a log,
stooping greatly, and digging into the wood with a knife which looked
somewhat like a stiletto. His long chestnut hair nearly covered his
forehead.

"Florian, what are you doing?" asked Crescence.

He threw the knife aside, shook his hair out of his face threw his arms
around Crescence, and kissed her. She offered no resistance, but at
length said,--

"There! that's enough now: you are just the same you always were."

"Yes; but you're not what you used to be."

"Not a bit changed. You are cross because I go with the geometer, a'n't
you? Well, you know you and I could never have got married. My folks
won't let me go to service; and stay with them I don't want to, either,
until my hair turns gray."

"If that's the way, and you like the geometer, I've nothing more to
say: you might have told me that this morning. I remember a time when
the king might have come,--and he owns the whole country, which is more
than helping to measure it,--and you'd have said, 'No, thank you: I
like my Florian better, even if he have nothing but the clothes on his
back.'"

"Why, how you talk! What's the use of all that when we never can get
married?"

"Oh, yes: there's the Red Tailor's daughter all over. If I'd only never
cast eyes on you again! If I'd only broken both my legs before they
ever carried me back home!"

"Oh, don't be so solemn, now! You'll look kindly at me yet, and laugh
with me a little when you meet me, won't you?"

She gave him a look of playful tenderness, and smiled,--though she was
more disposed to weep. Florian, picking up his knife and putting it in
his pocket, made a move to go, when Crescence seized his hand and
said,--

"Don't be angry with me, Florian: talk to me, dear. Don't you see? I
haven't married the geometer yet, but cut him I can't now: my folks
would throttle me in my sleep if I was to turn him off. Nothing can
come of it for two or three years, anyhow; and who knows what may
happen in that time? Perhaps I shall die. I wish I would, I'm sure."

Her voice was choked.

Florian's manner suddenly changed. The languor so unusual in him was
gone: their eyes met, and held each other beaming with joy.

"You see," he began, "as I sat there waiting, I felt as if somebody had
broken all my bones. I was thinking how unlucky we are