thing seemed falling back into the pleasant monotony of
a peaceful country life, pleasant after the terror and grief of the past
months. The hay-harvest was over, and the cherry-gathering; the corn and
the apples were ripening fast in the heat of the sun. In this lull, this
pause, my heart grew busy again with itself.

"My child," said the cure to me, one evening, when his long day's work
was over, "your face is _triste_. What are you thinking of?"

I was seated under a thick-leaved sycamore, a few paces from the
church-porch. Vespers were just ended; the low chant had reached my
ears, and I missed the soothing undertone. The women, in their high
white caps, and the men, in their blue blouses, were sauntering slowly
homeward. The children were playing all down the village street, and not
far away a few girls and young men were beginning to dance to the piping
of a flute. Over the whole was creeping the golden twilight of a summer
evening.

"I am very _triste_" I replied; "I am thinking that it is time for me to
go away from you all. I cannot stay in this tranquil place."

"But wherefore must you leave us?" he asked, sitting down on the bench
beside me; "I found two little stray lambs, wandering without fold or
shepherd, and I brought them to my own house. What compels them to go
into the wide world again?"

"Monsieur, we are poor," I answered, "and you are not rich. We should be
a burden to you, and we have no claim upon you."

"You have a great claim," he said; "there is not a heart in the parish
that does not love you already. Have not our children died in your arms?
Have you not watched over them? spent sleepless nights and watchful days
for them? How could we endure to see you go away? Remain with us,
madame; live with us, you and my _mignonne_, whose face is white yet."

Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was no
danger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at war
with the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I had
seen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in the
little cemetery up the hill. If I could go away for a while, I might
return, and learn to be content amid this tranquillity.

"Madame," said the pleasant tones of Monsieur Laurentie, "do you know
our language well enough to tell me your history now? You need not prove
to me that you are not wicked; tell me how you are unfortunate. Where
were you wandering to th