cotton
stockings and tied shoes, partly covered by sabots, furnished with a
leather strap for the instep, completed this costume of rustic
simplicity, to which the natural grace of Fleur-de-Marie lent an
inexpressible charm.

Holding in one hand the two corners of her apron, with the other she
distributed handfuls of grain among the winged crowd by which she was
surrounded. One beautiful pigeon of a silvery whiteness, with beak and
feet of a rich purple colour, more presuming or more indulged than the
rest, after having flown several times around Fleur-de-Marie, at length
alighted on her shoulder; the young girl, as though well used to these
familiarities, continued, wholly undisturbed, to throw out continued
supplies of grain; but, half turning her head till its perfect outline
alone was visible, she gently raised her head, and smilingly offered her
small rosy lips to meet those of her fond, caressing friend. The last
rays of the setting sun shed a pale golden light over this innocent
picture.

While the Goualeuse was thus occupied with her rural cares, Madame
Georges and the Abbe Laporte, cure of Bouqueval, sitting by the fireside
in the neat little parlour of the farm, were conversing on the one
constant theme,--Fleur-de-Marie. The old cure, with a pensive,
thoughtful air, his head bent downwards, and his elbows leaning on his
knees, mechanically stretched his two trembling hands before the fire.
Madame Georges, laying aside the needlework on which she had been
occupied, kept an anxious eye on the abbe, as though eagerly waiting for
some observation from him. After a moment's silence:

"Yes," said he, "you are right, Madame Georges; it will be better for M.
Rodolph to question Marie, for she is so filled with deep gratitude and
devotion to him, that she will probably reveal to him what she persists
in concealing from us."

"Then, since you agree with me, M. le Cure, I will write, this very
evening, to the address he left with me,--the Allee des Veuves."

"Poor child," sighed the kind old man, "she ought to have been so happy
here! What secret grief can thus be preying on her mind?"

[Illustration: "_At Length Alighted on Her Shoulder_"
Original Etching by L. Poiteau]

"Her unhappiness is too deeply fixed to be removed even by her earnest
and passionate application to study."

"And yet she has made a most rapid and extraordinary progress since she
has been under our care, has she not?"

"She has, indeed;