dismisses you, with a kiss
and a blessing, to your chamber; you retire to your room, offer prayers
and thanksgivings to the Great Author of all your happiness, then sleep
soundly till morning, when the same routine begins again."

"Oh, M. Rodolph, one might lead such a life as that for a hundred years,
without ever knowing one moment's weariness."

"But that is not all. There are Sundays and fete-days to be thought of."

"Yes; and how should we pass those?"

"Why, you would put on your holiday dress, with one of those pretty
little caps _a la paysanne_, which all admit you look so very nicely in,
and accompany your aunt in her large old-fashioned chaise, driven by
James the farm servant, to hear mass in the village church; after which,
during summer, your kind relative would take you to the different fetes
given in the adjoining parishes. You, so gentle, so modest and
good-looking, so tenderly beloved by your aunt, and so well spoken of by
the cure for all the virtues and qualifications which make a good wife,
will have no scarcity of offers for your hand in the dance,--indeed, all
the principal young farmers will be anxious to secure you as a partner,
by way of opening an acquaintance which shall last for life. By degrees
you begin to remark one more than the others; you perceive his deep
desire to attract your undivided attention, and so--" And here Rodolph,
struck by the continued silence of La Goualeuse, looked up at her. Alas!
the poor girl was endeavouring, though fruitlessly, to choke the deep
sobs which almost suffocated her. For a brief period, carried away by
the words of Rodolph, the bright future presented to her mental vision
had effaced the horrible present; but too quickly did the hideous
picture return, and sweep away for ever the dear delight of believing so
sweet, so calm an existence could ever be hers.

"Fleur-de-Marie," asked Rodolph, in a kind and affectionate tone, "why
is this? Why these tears?"

"Ah, M. Rodolph, you have unintentionally caused me much pain. Foolish
girl that I was, I had listened to you till I quite fancied this
paradise were a true picture."

"And so it is, my dear child! This paradise, as you call it, is no
fiction."

"Stop, coachman!"

"Now look! see! observe where we are!"

As the carriage stopped, La Goualeuse, at Rodolph's bidding,
mechanically raised her head,--they were on the summit of a little
hill. What was her surprise, her astonishment, at the scene whic