cquaintance it is worth while to renew our friendship with. You have
been wanted at the barriers for some time."

"I'll keep my weather-eye open," replied the driver, getting on his box.

It needs scarcely be told, after this specimen of slang, that the
coachman was a robber, one of the Schoolmaster's worthy associates. The
vehicle then quitted the Rue du Temple.

Two hours afterwards, towards the closing of a winter's day, the vehicle
containing the Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, stopped
before a wooden cross, marking out the sunken and lonely road which
conducted to the farm at Bouqueval, where the Goualeuse remained under
the kind protection of Madame Georges.

CHAPTER III.

AN IDYL.

The hour of five had just struck from the church clock of the little
village of Bouqueval; the cold was intense, the sky clear, the sun,
sinking slowly behind the vast leafless woods which crowned the heights
of Ecouen, cast a purple hue over the horizon, and sent its faint,
sloping rays across the extensive plains, white and hard with winter's
frost.

In the country each season has its own distinctive features, its own
peculiar charm; at times the dazzling snow changes the whole scene into
immense landscapes of purest alabaster, exhibiting their spotless
beauties to the reddish gray of the sky. Then may be seen in the glimmer
of twilight, either ascending or descending the hill, a benighted farmer
returning to his habitation; his horse, cloak, and hat, are covered with
the falling snow. Bitter is the cold, biting the north wind, dark and
gloomy the approaching night; but what cares he? There, amid those
leafless trees, he sees the bright taper burning in the window of his
cheerful home; while from the tall chimney a column of dark smoke rolls
upwards through the flaky shower that descends, and speaks to the
toil-worn farmer of a blazing hearth and humble meal prepared by kind
affection to welcome him after the fatigues of his journey. Then the
rustic gossip by the fireside, on which the fagot burns and crackles,
and a peaceful, comfortable night's rest, amid the whistling of the
winds, and the barking of the various dogs at the different farms
scattered around, with the answering cry from the distant watch-dog.

Daylight opens upon a scene of fairy-land. Surely the tiny elves have
been celebrating some grand fete, and have left some of their adornments
behind them, for on each branch hang long spiracles of