spilled
the sardines. He had climbed on the roof and dropped pebbles down on
them through the cracks and had later begged forgiveness through the
key-hole. Now he was yelling like an Indian, this celebrated composer of
ballets, as he swung a little peasant maid of ten in a creaky swing
beyond the pool--a dear little maid with eyes as dark as Alice's, who
screamed from sheer delight, and insisted on that good fellow playing
all the games that lay about them, from _tonneau_ to _bilboquet_.

Together, the cure and I carried the basket, now plentifully filled with
oysters back to the kitchen, while Tanrade was hailed from the pavilion,
much to the little maid's despair.

"_Depechez-vous!_" cried Alice, who had straightway embraced her exiled
Tanrade on his return and was now waving a summons to the cure and
myself.

"_Bon_," shouted back the cure. "_Allons, mes enfants, a table_--and the
one who has no appetite shall be cast into the sea--by the heels," added
his reverence.

What a breakfast followed! Such a rushing of little maids back and forth
from the jolly kitchen with the great platters of oysters. What a sole
smothered in a mussel sauce! What a lobster, scarlet as the cap of a
cardinal and garnished with crisp romaine! and the chickens! and the
mutton! and the _souffle_ of potatoes, and the salad of shrimps--_Mon
Dieu!_ What a luncheon, "sprayed," as the French say, with that rare old
Chablis and mellow Burgundy! And what laughter and camaraderie went
with it from the very beginning, for to be at table with friends in
France is to be _en fete_--it is the hour when hearts are warmest and
merriest.

Ah, you dear little women! You who know just when to give those who love
you a friendly pressure of the hand, or the gift of your lips if needs
be, even in the presence of so austere a personage as Monsieur le Cure.
You who understand. You who are tender or merry with the mood, or
contrary to the verge of exasperation--only to caress with the subtle
light of your eyes and be forgiven.

It was not until we had reached our coffee and liqueur, that the
surprise for the cure was forthcoming. Hardly had the tiny glasses been
filled, when the clear tone of the bell ringing from the ancient church
of The Three Wolves made us cease our talk to listen.

Alice turned to the cure; it was evidently the moment she had been
waiting for.

"Listen," said Alice softly--"how delicious!"

"It is the bell of Ste. Marie," returned t