ted as his messenger to inquire about the
invalid's progress, and convey his condolences. Yes, so ran her
comments, he was now laying claim to good manners; Paris was giving
him some polish! And at present here he was, leaning on his rake, and
mutely addressing Jeanne with a sympathetic nod. As soon as she saw
him, her face broke into smiles.

"I have been very ill," she said.

"Yes, I know, mademoiselle," he replied as he placed his hand on his
heart. And inspired with the wish to say something pretty or comical,
which might serve to enliven the meeting, he added: "You see, your
health has been taking a rest. Now it will indulge in a snore."

Jeanne had again gathered up a handful of gravel, while he, perfectly
satisfied, and opening his mouth wide from ear to ear in a burst of
silent laughter, renewed his raking with all the strength of his arms.
As the rake travelled over the gravel a regular, strident sound arose.
When a few minutes had elapsed Rosalie, seeing her little charge
absorbed in her amusement, seemingly happy and at ease, drew gradually
farther away from her, as though lured by the grating of this rake.
Zephyrin was now working away in the full glare of the sun, on the
other side of the lawn.

"You are sweating like an ox," she whispered to him. "Take off your
great-coat. Be quick; mademoiselle won't be offended."

He relieved himself of the garment, and once more suspended it from a
branch. His red trousers, supported by a belt round the waist, reached
almost to his chest, while his shirt of stout, unbleached linen, held
at the neck by a narrow horsehair band, was so stiff that it stuck out
and made him look even rounder than he was. He tucked up his sleeves
with a certain amount of affectation, as though to show Rosalie a
couple of flaming hearts, which, with the inscription "For Ever," had
been tattooed on them at the barracks.

"Did you go to mass this morning?" asked Rosalie, who usually tackled
him with this question every Sunday.

"To mass! to mass!" he repeated, with a chuckle.

His red ears seemed to stand out from his head, shorn to the very
skin, and the whole of his diminutive barrel-like body expressed a
spirit of banter.

At last the confession came. "Of course I went to mass."

"You are lying," Rosalie burst out violently. "I know you are lying;
your nose is twitching. Oh, Zephyrin, you are going to the dogs--you
have left off going to church! Beware!"

His answer, lover-like,