yes on the floor at the words of Colombe
de Gaillefontaine, raised them beaming with joy and pride and fixed them
once more on Phoebus. She was very beautiful at that moment.

The old dame, who was watching this scene, felt offended, without
understanding why.

"Holy Virgin!" she suddenly exclaimed, "what is it moving about my legs?
Ah! the villanous beast!"

It was the goat, who had just arrived, in search of his mistress, and
who, in dashing towards the latter, had begun by entangling his horns in
the pile of stuffs which the noble dame's garments heaped up on her feet
when she was seated.

This created a diversion. The gypsy disentangled his horns without
uttering a word.

"Oh! here's the little goat with golden hoofs!" exclaimed Berangere,
dancing with joy.

The gypsy crouched down on her knees and leaned her cheek against the
fondling head of the goat. One would have said that she was asking
pardon for having quitted it thus.

Meanwhile, Diane had bent down to Colombe's ear.

"Ah! good heavens! why did not I think of that sooner? 'Tis the gypsy
with the goat. They say she is a sorceress, and that her goat executes
very miraculous tricks."

"Well!" said Colombe, "the goat must now amuse us in its turn, and
perform a miracle for us."

Diane and Colombe eagerly addressed the gypsy.

"Little one, make your goat perform a miracle."

"I do not know what you mean," replied the dancer.

"A miracle, a piece of magic, a bit of sorcery, in short."

"I do not understand." And she fell to caressing the pretty animal,
repeating, "Djali! Djali!"

At that moment Fleur-de-Lys noticed a little bag of embroidered leather
suspended from the neck of the goat,--"What is that?" she asked of the
gypsy.

The gypsy raised her large eyes upon her and replied gravely,--"That is
my secret."

"I should really like to know what your secret is," thought
Fleur-de-Lys.

Meanwhile, the good dame had risen angrily,--"Come now, gypsy, if
neither you nor your goat can dance for us, what are you doing here?"

The gypsy walked slowly towards the door, without making any reply.
But the nearer she approached it, the more her pace slackened. An
irresistible magnet seemed to hold her. Suddenly she turned her eyes,
wet with tears, towards Phoebus, and halted.

"True God!" exclaimed the captain, "that's not the way to depart. Come
back and dance something for us. By the way, my sweet love, what is your
name?"

"La Esmeralda," said