upon his palm, he reflected.

"We must make this known," said he, firmly. "We are not savages;
we will tell Monsieur Courtois that in passing along by the park in
our boat, we perceived the body."

Old Jean resisted at first; then, seeing that his son would, if
need be, go without him, yielded.

They re-crossed the ditch, and leaving their fishing-tackle in the
field, directed their steps hastily toward the mayor's house.

Orcival, situated a mile or more from Corbeil, on the right bank
of the Seine, is one of the most charming villages in the environs
of Paris, despite the infernal etymology of its name. The gay and
thoughtless Parisian, who, on Sunday, wanders about the fields,
more destructive than the rook, has not yet discovered this smiling
country. The distressing odor of the frying from coffee-gardens
does not there stifle the perfume of the honeysuckles. The refrains
of bargemen, the brazen voices of boat-horns, have never awakened
echoes there. Lazily situated on the gentle slopes of a bank washed
by the Seine, the houses of Orcival are white, and there are
delicious shades, and a bell-tower which is the pride of the place.
On all sides vast pleasure domains, kept up at great cost, surround
it. From the upper part, the weathercocks of twenty chateaux may
be seen. On the right is the forest of Mauprevoir, and the pretty
country-house of the Countess de la Breche; opposite, on the other
side of the river, is Mousseaux and Petit-Bourg, the ancient domain
of Aguado, now the property of a famous coach-maker; on the left,
those beautiful copses belong to the Count de Tremorel, that large