nd though she lamented her fate, she burst
into peals of laughter. At last by a supreme effort the pan moved, and
the omelette rolled over, somewhat heavily, I confess, into the large
dish which the old woman was holding. Never did an omelette look
better!

"I am sure the young lady's arms must be tired," said the old man, as
he began cutting a round loaf into enormous slices.

"Oh no, not so very," my wife answered with a merry laugh; "only I am
crazy to taste my--our omelette."

We had seated ourselves round the table. When we had eaten and drunk
with the good souls, we rose and made ready to go home. The sun had
set, and the whole family came out of the cabin to see us off and say
good-night.

"Don't you want my son to go with you?" the old woman called after us.

It was growing dark and chilly under the trees, and we gradually
quickened our pace. "Those are happy people," said Louise. "We will
come some morning and breakfast with them,--shan't we? We can put the
baby in one of the donkey panniers, and in the other a large pasty and
a bottle of wine.--You are not afraid of losing your way, George?"

"No, dear; no fear of that."

"A pasty and a bottle of wine--What is that?"

"Nothing; the stump of a tree."

"The stump of a tree--the stump of a tree," she muttered. "Don't you
hear something behind us?"

"It is only the wind in the leaves, or the breaking of a dead branch."

He is fortunate who at night, in the heart of a forest, feels as calm
as at his own fireside. You do not tremble, but you feel the silence.
Involuntarily you look for eyes peering out of the darkness, and you
try to define the confused forms appearing and changing every minute.
Something breaks and sounds beneath your tread, and if you stop you
hear the distant melancholy howl of your watch-dog, the scream of an
owl, and other noises, far and near, not so easily explained. A sense
of strangeness surrounds you and weighs you down. If you are alone,
you walk faster; if there are two of you, you draw close to your
companion. My wife clung to my arm.

"Let us turn wood-cutters. We could build a pretty little hut, simple,
but nice enough. I would have curtains to the windows, and a carpet,
and put my piano in one corner." She spoke very low, and occasionally
I felt my hand tremble on her arm.

"You would soon get enough of that, dearest."

"It isn't fair to say so." And in another minute she went on:--"You
think I don't love you, you a