lle. "It is our
secret; I discovered it myself."

When I left Sceaux to meet Jupille, who had started before daybreak, the
sun was already high. There was not a cloud nor a breath of wind; the
sway of summer lay over all things. But, though the heat was broiling,
the walk was lovely. All about me was alive with voice or perfume. Clouds
of linnets fluttered among the branches, golden beetles crawled upon the
grass, thousands of tiny whirring wings beat the air--flies, gnats,
gadflies, bees--all chorusing the life--giving warmth of the day and the
sunshine that bathed and penetrated all nature. I halted from time to
time in the parched glades to seek my way, and again pushed onward
through the forest paths overarched with heavy-scented leafage, onward
over the slippery moss up toward the heights, below which the Bievre
stole into view.

There it lay, at my feet, gliding between banks of verdure which seemed a
season younger than the grass I stood on. I began to descend the slope,
knowing that M. Jupille was awaiting me somewhere in the valley. I broke
into a run. I heard the murmur of water in the hollows, and caught
glimpses of forget-me-not tufts in low-lying grassy corners. Suddenly a
rod outlined itself against the sky, between two trees. It was he, the
old clerk; he nodded to me and laid down his line.

"I thought you never were coming."

"That shows you don't know me. Any sport?"

"Not so loud! Yes, capital sport. I'll bait a line for you."

"And where is your friend, Monsieur Jupille?"

"There he is."

"Where?"

"Staring you in the face; can't you see him?".

Upon my word, I could see nobody, until he directed my gaze with his
fishing-rod, when I perceived, ten yards away, a large back view of white
trousers and brown, unbuckled waistcoat, a straw hat which seemed to
conceal a head, and a pair of shirt-sleeves hanging over the water.

This mass was motionless.

"He must have got a bite," said Jupille, "else he would have been here
before now. Go and see him."

Not knowing whom I was about to address, I gave a warning cough as I came
near him.

The unknown drew a loud breath, like a man who wakes with a start.

"That you, Jupille?" he said, turning a little way; "are you out of
bait?"

"No, my dear tutor, it is I."

"Monsieur Mouillard, at last!"

"Monsieur Flamaran! Jupille told the truth when he said I should be
surprised. Are you fond of fishing?"

"It's a passion with me. One must keep