h
revealed itself to her gaze! The pretty village, built facing the south,
the farm, the meadow, the beautiful cows, the little winding river, the
chestnut grove, the church in the distance,--the whole picture, so
vividly painted, was before her eyes. Nothing was wanting,--even the
milk-white heifer, Musette, her future pet, was peacefully grazing as
she had been described. The rich colouring of an October sun gilded the
charming landscape, while the variegated tint of the chestnut-leaves,
slightly tinged by the autumnal breezes, stood out in bold relief
against the clear blue of the surrounding sky.

"Well, my little Fleur-de-Marie, what do you say to this? Am I a good
painter, or not?"

La Goualeuse looked at him with a surprise in which a degree of
uneasiness was mingled; all she saw and heard appeared to her to partake
largely of the supernatural.

"M. Rodolph," she at length exclaimed, with a bewildered look, "how can
this be? Indeed, indeed, I feel afraid to look at it,--it is so exactly
alike. I cannot believe it is anything but a dream you have conjured up,
and which will quickly pass away. Speak to me! pray do; and tell me what
to believe."

"Calm yourself, my dear child! Nothing is more simple or true than what
you behold here. The good woman who owns this farm was my nurse, and
brought me up here; intending to give myself a treat, I sent to her
early this morning to say I was coming to see her. You see I painted
after nature."

"You are quite right, M. Rodolph," sighed La Goualeuse. "There is,
indeed, nothing but what is quite natural in all this."

The farm to which Rodolph had conducted Fleur-de-Marie was situated at
the outer extremity of the village of Bouqueval,--a small, isolated, and
unknown hamlet, entirely surrounded by its own lands, and about two
leagues' distance from Ecouen; the vehicle, following the directions of
Rodolph, rapidly descended the hill, and entered a long avenue bordered
with apple and cherry trees, while the wheels rolled noiselessly over
the short fine grass with which the unfrequented road was overgrown.

Fleur-de-Marie, whose utmost efforts were unavailing to shake off the
painful sensations she experienced, remained so silent and mournful that
Rodolph reproached himself with having, by his well-intentioned
surprise, been the cause of it. In a few moments more, the carriage,
passing by the large entrance to the farm, entered a thick avenue of
elm-trees, and stopped bef