hat made
it difficult to believe he saw much good in it. "Silk petticoats and
satin corsets! I wonder where the rascal finds money for such
fineries for his shepherdess."

He went straight on to the Cottage of the Vines, in hopes that Babet
would know something of Hector's proceedings. He found the old woman
in her porch, resting from the labours of the day.

"How do you do, Babet?" said the old Baron, softening his voice like
any sucking dove. "Anything new going on?"

"Nothing new, your honour," replied Babet, attempting to rise.

"Sit still," said the Baron, putting his hand kindly on the old
lady's shoulder; "here's a seat for me on this basket of rushes." At
this moment M. de Langevy heard the upstairs casement closed.
"Oho!" he thought, "I've hit upon it at once--this is the cage where
these turtles bill and coo. Have you seen my son this week, Babet?"
he said aloud.

"Oh, I see him often, your honour; he often comes sporting into my
paddock."

"Sporting in your preserves, Babet--a pretty sort of game."

"Oh, very good game, your honour; this very day he sent me a
beautiful hare. I did not know what to do with it; but at last I put
it on the spit."

"The hare wasn't all for you, perhaps. But, listen to me, Babet--I
know the whole business--my son is in love with some shepherdess or
other--and I don't think she is far from here."

"I don't understand you, sir," said the old lady--a true _confidante_,
though seventy years of age.

"You understand me so perfectly," said the Baron, "that you are
evidently ashamed of your behaviour. But do not be uneasy, there is
no great harm in it--a mere childish frolic--only tell me where the
girl is?"

"Ah, your honour," cried Babet, who saw there was no use for further
pretence--"she's an angel--she is--a perfect angel!"

"Where does the angel come from, Babet?" enquired the Baron,
"she has not come fresh from heaven, has she?"

"I know nothing more about her, your honour; but I pray morning and
night that you may have no one else for a daughter."

"We shall see--the two lovers are above, are not they?"

"Why should I conceal it? Yes, your honour, you may go up stairs at
once. An innocent love like theirs never bolts the door."

When the Baron was half-way up the stair, he stopped short, on
seeing the two lovers sitting close to each other, the one weeping,
and the other trying to console her. There was such an air of
infantine candour about them both, and b