day, climb the hills that rose before him, and see what manner
of country lay beyond.

It was still early when, after breakfasting by himself in the
salle-à-manger, he found his way into the garden; no one was
stirring, it seemed deserted; he wandered along the gravel
paths, trod down the tall grass as he crossed the lawn, and
arrived at the confines of the little domain. On two sides it
was bounded by a narrow stream, separating it from the road
beyond; at the angle of the garden the shallow, trickling
water widened into a little fall crossed by a few planks;
there were trees and bushes on each side, and the grassy
garden bank sloped down to the stream. It was very green, and
peaceful and dewy. Horace stood still for a minute looking at
the flickering lights and shadows, and watching the dash and
current of the water.

"_Fi donc, Mademoiselle, tu n'es pas raisonnable_," cries a
sweet shrill little voice close to him, "_tu es vraiment
insupportable aujourd'hui_."

He turned round and saw a child between five and six years
old, dressed in a shabby little merino frock and white
pinafore, standing with her back towards him, and holding out
a doll at arm's length, its turned-out pink leather toes just
touching the ground.

"_Veux-tu bien être sage?_" continues the small monitress with
much severity, "_encore une fois, un, deux, trois!_" and she
made a little dancing-step backwards; then with an air of