tters, the effects of
which we were continually made to feel; this, and the mystery that
enveloped his small abode, where he worked all day among his bottles and
retorts, made Monsieur appear somewhat of an ogre in our eyes. There was
always a sense of freedom in the upper garden, which was out of the
range of his windows, and where he never came. That pleasant upper
garden, what a paradise it was, with its long sunny walks within the
shelter of high walls! The trim stateliness of the ancient splendor had
run to luxuriant disorder, and thick tangles of rare roses swung abroad
their boughs above great beds of lilies-of-the-valley and periwinkle
which had overrun their borders and crept into the walks.

During the vacation, we who stayed had the privilege of going into the
upper garden. Obtaining the key from Justine, we would wander first
along the shady pathways of the lower garden, past the flower-beds where
the girls during recess-times worked and gossiped and quarrelled,--their
quick French tongues reminding one of a colony of sparrows,--then,
turning the stubborn lock of the heavy door that opened on the flight
of mossy steps, we came into that region of stillness and delight, the
upper garden.

Oh, the pleasant autumn afternoons spent sitting together on the mossy
walk between the box-hedges, the hum of bees and the scent of roses
filling the air, and the sweet monotonous murmur of the sea on the
shingly beach in our ears! For, mounting still higher by terraces and
another flight of steps through a tumble-down gateway, you came upon the
open cliffs; and the long blue line of the sea and the fresh sea-breeze
greeted you with a thousand thoughts of home. For England lay beyond the
trembling blue line.

I remember it was one of these autumn afternoons, that, coming down from
practising, with my music-books under my arm, I met Justine, the genius
of the _menage_, cook and housekeeper in one, a shrewd woman, who had
three objects in life,--to manage _les betes_, as she condescendingly
termed the other servants, to please Madame, whom she adored, and to go
to church every Sunday and _grande fete_. Justine was coming in from the
garden, with a basket on her arm, in which lay two pigeons that she had
just killed. On her fingers she twirled the gory scissors with which she
had performed the deed.

"Good day, Justine! How is Madame?"

"Madame is well, thank you, Mademoiselle,--a little headache, that is
all,--that come