irely carried out of herself, let
him hold her for a moment in his arms, then started up with flaming
cheeks in consternation, and began to hurry towards the gate.

At the same moment the three young girls came down the path towards the
sun-dial, and Mademoiselle Moineau, waking with a violent start, got up
and hobbled stiffly forward into the sunshine.

"Where are you, my children?" she cried. "Sophie, Lucie, it is quite
time to go back to your lessons--see, your sister is gone already. Say
good-by to your cousins, my dears--"

[Illustration: SUDDENLY HIS SLIGHT BROWN HANDS CLOSED ON HERS.]

"We may all go back to the chateau together, madame, may we not?"
said Angelot with dancing eyes, and he hurried the children on, all
chattering of the wonderful corners and treasures that Henriette had
shown them.

But Mademoiselle Helene flew before like the wind, and was not to be
overtaken.

In the meanwhile, Madame de Sainfoy consulted Cousin Urbain about her
new silk hangings for the large drawing-room, and also as to a list of
names for a dinner, at which the chief guests were to be the Baron de
Mauves, the Prefect of the Department, and Monsieur le General Ratoneau,
commanding the troops in that western district.

"And I suppose it is necessary to invite all these excellent cousins?"
Madame de Sainfoy asked her husband that evening, when the cousins were
gone.

"Entirely necessary, my dear Adelaide!"

CHAPTER VIII

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH MET WITH MANY ANNOYANCES

Dark clouds were hanging over Les Chouettes. In the afternoon there had
been a thunderstorm, with heavy rain which had refreshed the burnt
slopes and filled the stream that wound through the meadows under the
lines of poplars and willows, and set great orange slugs crawling among
the wet grass. The storm had passed, but the air was heavy, electric,
and still. The sun had set gloriously, wildly, like a great fire behind
the woods, and now all the eastern sky was flaming red, as if from a
still more tremendous fire somewhere beyond the moors and hills.

Two men were sitting on a bench under Monsieur Joseph's south wall;
himself and white-haired Joubard, the farmer; before them was a table
with bottles and glasses. Joubard had been trying a wine that rivalled
his own. Monsieur Joseph had entertained him very kindly, as his way
was; but the shadow of the evening rested on Monsieur Joseph's face. He
was melancholy and abstracted; he frowned; he even