half-bad."

"Ah, Pepin!" and the old lady sighed, "she was a sweet
child, and some day might even have done as wife for you.
But you are so particular, my son. Of course, I do not
mean to say she was good enough for you, but at least
she was more better than those other women who would try
and steal you from me. _Mon Dieu_, how they do conspire!"

"So, that is so," commented Pepin resignedly, but at the
same time not without a hint of satisfaction in his voice;
"they _will_ do it, you know, mother. Bah! if the
shameless females only knew how Pepin Quesnelle sees
through their little ways, how they would be
confounded--astonished, and go hide themselves for the
shame of it! But this girl, that is the thing, she was
nice girl, I think, and if perhaps she had the airs of
a _grande dame_ and would expect much--well, after all,
there was myself to set against that Eh? What? Don't you
think that is so, my mother?"

"Yes, Pepin, yes, of course that is so, my sweet one,
and what more could any woman want? And that girl, I
think, she was took wid you, for I see her two, three
times look at you so out of the corners of the eyes."

While this conversation was proceeding, Antoine had more
than once glanced at his master without turning his head.
The plate of stew was now within easy reach of his short
grizzled snout, and really it looked as if it had been
put there on purpose for him to help himself.

When Pepin happened to look round, he thought his mother,
in a fit of absent-mindedness, must have put down an
empty plate--it was so clean, so beautifully clean. But
when he looked at Antoine, who was now sitting quite out
of reach of the plate, and observed the Sunday-school
expression on the bear's old-fashioned face, he understood
matters. He knew Antoine of old.

"Mother," he said, in his natural voice and quite quietly,
"my dear mother, don't let the old beast know that you
suspect anything. Take up that plate, and don't look at
him, or he will find out we have discovered all. What
have you got left in the pot, my mother?"

"Two pigeons, my sweet one, but--"

"That will do, mother. Do not excite yourself. Your
Pepin will be avenged. The b'ar shall have the lot, _ma
foi!_ the whole lot, and he will wish that he had waited
until his betters were finished. Take down the mustard
tin, and the pepper-pot, and yes, those little red peppers
that make the mouth as the heat of the pit below, and
put them all in the inside