nd a cheerful countenance, she entered the
room in which her father was. He was seated in an armchair before
the fire-place, his attention centred on a halter which he was
endeavouring to manufacture. He did not fail to notice the laughing
eyes and the radiant expression of his daughter.

"What has she been about?" he mused, "has she been speaking to that
smooth-tongued, stuck-up son of a ragamuffin."

His face assumed a sour expression as the suspicion crossed his
mind. After a few moments of silence, he raised his small and
constantly flickering eyes, and asked in a sour tone: "Where have
you been all this time?"

"I have been speaking to Mait Jacques," she replied.

"The whole time."

"Yes, all the time."

"Only to him?"

"Yes, to him alone."

Mr. Rougeant was satisfied. The idea of disbelieving his daughter
never entered his head. He knew she would never debase herself by
uttering a falsehood, and he quietly resumed his work. Then, after a
few minutes of silence, he turned again to her: "Is Jacques gone?"
he enquired.

"I do not know," she replied.

"Well run and see, and, if he is not, tell him to come and speak to
me."

An anxious look passed over Adele's face. Fortunately, she was able
to slip out of the room before her father noticed it.

"He wants to question him," she said to herself; "I shall have to
warn him. My father is almost sure to find him out. Oh! I do hope
that he is gone." She approached the stable, where Jacques usually
spent his last half-hour. She went towards the door, opened it and
called out: "Jacques."

No answer.

She joyously tripped towards the house. After a few steps she
stopped. "I have not called out very loudly," she thought, "if
Jacques were still here and my father were to see him, his
suspicions would be aroused."

She retraced her steps, and in a half-frightened tone, wishing with
all her heart that her cry might not be answered, she called out
again in a louder voice: "Mait Jacques; are you about there?"

She listened eagerly. Her summons were not answered. She went
towards the house and entered it, saying: "He's gone, I have not
seen him."

"It does not matter much," said her father, "I will tell him what I
have to say to-morrow."

Her anxiety recommenced. She looked at her father and tried to read
his thoughts. In this she failed. He had one of those hard set faces
the owners of which seem devoid of soul or sentiment.

When she awoke the following m