basket she carried on her arm, and discovered
cherries as red as her own lips, nestling in dark green leaves. "Here,"
said she, cheerfully, "are some stones to take your revenge on."

"Ah, what beauties," cried Alice, taking a few; and the basket being
handed round, we were soon all eating cherries; and Gabrielle asked me
if I did not wish she had the gift of St. Marguerite.

"I do not know what gift you mean," said I, turning half round, and
looking full at her.

"Once on a time," said the lively girl, "the foolish story goes, that
two saints, who were brother and sister, lived in separate monasteries;
but the brother was frequently visited by his sister, on the pretence
of seeking spiritual advice. Their names were St. Honorat and St.
Marguerite. At length the brother grew rather tired of his sister's
visits, and called them a waste of time. 'Henceforth, let it suffice
that I shall visit you occasionally, said he. 'When?' said St.
Marguerite. 'When the cherry-trees blossom,' said St Honorat. Thereupon,
St. Marguerite prayed that the cherry-trees might blossom once a month,
which they did; so her brother acknowledged himself outwitted."

"Fie for shame, daughter," said M. Bourdinave, with displeasure. "I am
grieved that you should remember and repeat such lying legends."

"Dear father, they exercise the fancy--"

"Exercise the fancy, indeed! Let fancy confine herself to her own
province. She is a good servant, but a bad mistress. The Jews exercised
their fancies in the wild Talmudical fables. What said our Saviour of
them? 'Ye make the word of God of none effect through your traditions.
Let me hear no more papistical fables."

Gabrielle hung her head, and stealing a glance that way, I saw Madeleine
pass her arm round her sister's waist, and look sweetly at her, which
made me think Madeleine more attractive than ever. M. Bourdinave did not
immediately recover his equanimity, but addressing my father, said it
more than ever behooved good Reformers to walk warily, and not give in
to any of the ensnaring practices of the surrounding Catholics. "Little
by little they are stealing in on us already," said he, "and, if our
sagacious men are to be believed, a time of trouble is preparing for us
that may perhaps not fall very short of the massacre on the day of St.
Bartholomew."

"Still," said my father, "we are under the protection of the Edict of
Nantes."

"Edicts may be set aside," said M. Bourdinave, in a lowered v