necessity for a lodge. Between the two pilasters, a sumptuous iron
gate, like those made in Buffon's time for the Jardin des Plantes,
opened on a short paved way which led to the country road (formerly
kept in order by Les Aigues and the Soulanges family) which unites
Conches, Cerneux, Blangy, and Soulanges to Ville-aux-Fayes, like a
wreath, for the whole road is lined with flowering hedges and little
houses covered with roses and honey-suckle and other climbing plants.

There, along a pretty wall which extends as far as a terrace from
which the land of Les Aigues falls rapidly to the valley till it meets
that of Soulanges, are the rotten posts, the old wheel, and the forked
stakes which constituted the manufactory of the village rope-maker.

Soon after midday, while Blondet was seating himself at table opposite
the Abbe Brossette and receiving the tender expostulations of the
countess, Pere Fourchon and Mouche arrived at this establishment. From
that vantage-ground Pere Fourchon, under pretence of rope-making,
could watch Les Aigues and see every one who went in and out. Nothing
escaped him, the opening of the blinds, tete-a-tete loiterings, or the
least little incidents of country life, were spied upon by the old
fellow, who had set up this business within the last three years,--a
trifling circumstance which neither the masters, nor the servants, nor
the keepers of Les Aigues had as yet remarked upon.

"Go round to the house by the gate of the Avonne while I put away the
tackle," said Pere Fourchon to his attendant, "and when you have
blabbed about the thing, they'll no doubt send after me to the
Grand-I-Vert, where I am going for a drop of drink,--for it makes one
thirsty enough to wade in the water that way. If you do just as I tell
you, you'll hook a good breakfast out of them; try to meet the