ing for the season, but which
the sharp cold air that was blowing at this moment made appear very
comfortable. He galloped away, and continued this pace for about
three-quarters of a mile, in spite of the unevenness of the road, which
followed a nearly straight line over hilly ground. It would have been
difficult to decide which to admire more, the horse's limbs or the
rider's lungs; for the latter, during this rapid ride, had sung without
taking breath, so to speak, the whole overture to Wilhelm Tell. We must
admit that the voice in which he sang the andante of the Swiss
mountaineer's chorus resembled a reed pipe more than a hautboy; but, to
make amends when he reached the presto, his voice, a rather good bass,
struck the horse's ears with such force that the latter redoubled his
vigor as if this melody had produced upon him the effect of a trumpet
sounding the charge on the day of battle.

The traveller, whom we have probably recognized by his musical feat,
concluded his concert by stopping at the entrance to some woods which
extended from the top of the rocks to the river, breaking, here and
there, the uniformity of the fields. After gazing about him for some
time, he left the road and, entering the woods on the right, stopped at
the foot of a large tree. Near this tree was a very small brook, which
took its source not far away and descended with a sweet murmur to the
river, making a narrow bed in the clayey ground which it watered. Such
was the modesty of its course that a little brighter green and fresher
grass a few feet away from it were the only indications of its presence.
Nothing was wanting to make this an idyllic place for a rendezvous,
neither the protecting shade, the warbling of birds in the trees, the
picturesque landscape surrounding it, nor the soft grass.

After dismounting from his steed and tying him to the branches of an oak,
thus conforming to the time-honored custom of lovers, the cavalier struck
his foot upon the ground three or four times to start the circulation in
his legs, and then drew from his pocket a very pretty Breguet watch.

"Ten minutes past eight," said he; "I am late and yet I am early. It
looks as if the clocks at La Fauconnerie were not very well regulated."
He walked up and down with a quick step whistling with a vengeance:

"Quand je quittai la Normandie
J'attends--j'attends--"

a refrain which the occasion brought to his mind. When this pastime was
exh