(Continued from page 255.)

Jack dropped the subject of the outing, and did not again refer to it till the evening before the fÊte. Estelle had been very eager to see the dancing at the Fontaine des Eaux, which was to begin at six o'clock that evening. Mrs. Wright had consented, and both were ready to start by five. It was quite half an hour's walk, but the way being on level ground when once the village was reached, Mrs. Wright was equal to the exertion.

Estelle, dressed in well-made (Mrs. Wright was an excellent dressmaker) but quite plain, dark blue serge, was putting on a neat white sailor hat, when Jack took advantage of her absence to say,

'Don't you think she would be satisfied with this evening's amusement, Mother? Must we take her to the fÊte to-morrow?'

'At it again, Jack? Why, what should hinder our taking her? I can't think what has come to you that you make so many objections.'

Estelle came dancing into the room, in the wildest of spirits, and Jack felt as if he were cruel to wish to disappoint her. Putting aside his feelings, he determined that, as she was to go, she should enjoy herself.

Estelle had been to the Fontaine des Eaux several times in her walks with Jack. It was a favourite spot of hers. The way lay through the village, across the rickety old bridge, and up the narrow valley to the left, following the course of the river. The green hills on each side had all the bright freshness of early spring, but the real beauty of the walk was the Fontaine des Eaux itself. Here the valley broadened out into a wild and lovely glen; the hills were wooded to their base; the river, roaring and dashing over its rocky bed, followed the sweep of the hills to the left, leaving a wide, grassy expanse on the right which stretched to the foot of the hills, where it was broken up by a tangle of rocks, wild flowers, and brushwood.

Here there were seats for the spectators of the dance. A rough sort of shed had been run up, and boarded for those who feared night dews, or early morning chills. Near the Fontaine, a little bubbling spring of clear water fringed with delicate ferns and 'morning glory,' was a refreshment booth, which appeared to be driving a thriving trade when the little party of English arrived.

Everybody was in gala dress; everybody beamed with joy. The white caps and beautifully embroidered bodices of the women—though their dresses were all either black or dark blue—lent a brightness to the crowd; a bright touch was added by the gay shawls of the elder dames, and the broad slouch hats and flapping white collars of the men, got up in their best.

It was a calm evening, with a silvery crescent moon, and very warm for the time of year. Though it was scarcely dark yet, the Chinese lanterns were lighted, lanterns of every shape and size and colour. The people appeared to have gone mad on the subject. Not only did lanterns hang from the trees, outline the sheds, and shine from the tops of poles along the banks of the river, but some of the men carried them on their hats, or hanging from their thick walking-sticks.

Mrs. Wright was warmly greeted by her numerous friends. Many a smile was turned on her and on Jack, who had a bow and a smile for them all as he made way for his mother and Estelle. The little girl found it very bewildering and delightful after her long quiet days in the Hospice de la Providence. She thought she had never seen such kind people. They came to ask how she was, and commented on her looks with the politest of compliments. Until now she had not known what a stir her arrival, and the mystery which still surrounded her, had caused in the village. Shy though she felt, her gracious manner, and gentle way of receiving all the notice she attracted, charmed the simple people.

Jack found seats in the front row of the great shed. He chose them on the side which was nearer the exit by which they could slip away if his mother were tired. Here Estelle watched the animated scene, her chair close to Goody's, too fascinated to talk.

The circus troupe had brought a fairly good band with them, and to its music the gay, happy throng were dancing. Estelle was greatly entertained by the vigour shown. Still more delighted was she when M. Fargis (the captain of the boat which had picked her up) insisted on Jack dancing with his daughter, to which the sailor consented. He did not wish to appear surly or stand-offish. The manly grace with which he bore off the young lady charmed Estelle, and she scarcely heard the skipper's question: 'The young lady does not dance?'

Before Mrs. Wright could answer, M. Matou, the PrÉfet, was bowing in front of her, his hat pressed with both hands on his chest. His son, he said—a boy of fifteen whom Estelle knew well by sight—desired to be presented to the little English lady, to pray her to give him the pleasure of the dance. M. le PrÉfet was quite one of the Élite of Tout-Petit society, and Mrs. Wright was fully conscious of the honour paid to Estelle by this invitation. The boy had often seen her during her walks with Jack, or when she accompanied Goody to market.

He had watched her from the moment she had appeared on the scene that evening. His father, noticing his abstraction, rallied him on not joining his companions, and making merry with the rest in the most inviting waltz that was ever played. M. le PrÉfet, on learning his son's wishes, at once offered to assist him in the accomplishment of his desire. Alas for Julien Matou's hopes! Mrs. Wright answered him as well as M. Fargis in the same breath:

'Mademoiselle cannot dance to-night. She is far from strong enough for such exertion. She has only come to look on, and will be returning home soon.'

M. le PrÉfet and his son were a little inclined to resent the refusal, but Mrs. Wright thanked them for the honour they had done her little girl, and Estelle smiled so prettily that they were disarmed. Drawing up a chair in front of them, M. Matou sat down to talk to Mrs. Wright, while Julien leant against the side of the shed, and, looking down at Estelle, ventured on some shy remark.

Little did they think, as the elders chatted and laughed, and the younger were gradually thawed into an animated talk, that a pair of eyes were riveted on the little girl—at first in amazement, then in settled purpose. Jack's strange instinct had not been altogether at fault. It is not on record what the owner of those eyes would have felt impelled to do if M. le PrÉfet and his son had not taken up their position close to the little English girl.

(Continued on page 270.)