ed, not alone by the fervour of a love which, in minds as
wild and unregulated as hers, sometimes leads on to madness, but also
from a yearning to pour into the ear of Martial the virtuous resolutions
she had formed, and to reveal to him the bright vista of happiness
opened to both by her conversation with Fleur-de-Marie.

The flying steps of La Louve soon conducted her to the fisherman's
cottage, and there, seated tranquilly before the door, she found Father
Ferot, an old, white-headed man, busily employed mending his nets. Even
before she came close up to him, La Louve cried out:

"Quick, quick, Father Ferot! Your boat! Your boat!"

"What! Is it you, my girl? Well, how are you? I have not seen you this
long while."

"I know, I know; but where is your boat? and take me across to the isle
as fast as you can row."

"My boat? Well to be sure! Now, how very unlucky! As if it was to be so.
Bless you, my girl, it is quite out of my power to ferry you across
to-day."

"But why? Why is it?"

"Why, you see, my son has taken my boat to go up to the boat-races held
at St. Ouen. Bless your heart, I don't think there's a boat left all
along the river's side."

"Distraction!" exclaimed La Louve, stamping her foot and clenching her
hand. "Then all is lost; I shall not be able to see him!"

"'Pon my honour and word, it's true, though," said old Ferot. "I am
extremely sorry I am unable to ferry you over, because, no doubt, by
your going on so, he is very much worse."

"Who is much worse? Who?"

"Why, Martial!"

"Martial!" exclaimed La Louve, snatching the sleeve of old Ferot's
jacket, "My man ill?"

"Bless me! Did you not know it?"

"Martial? Do you mean Martial?"

"To be sure I do; but don't hold me so tight, you'll tear my blouse. Now
be quiet, there's a good girl. I declare you frighten me, you stare
about so wildly."

"Ill! Martial ill? And how long has he been so?"

"Oh, two or three days."

"'Tis false! He would have written and told me of it, had it been so."

"Ah, but then, don't you see? He's been too bad to handle a pen."

"Too ill to write! And he is on the isle! Are you sure--quite sure he is
there?"

"Why, I'll tell you. You must know, this morning, I meets the widow
Martial. Now you are aware, my girl, that most, in general, when I
notice her coming one way, I make it my business to go the other, for I
am not particular fond of her,--I can't say I am. So then--"

"But my man--my man! Tell me