patois. _Il étoit_. We had not heard the old-fashioned expression since
our childhood, in the villages of our native land.

We accepted the escort, and the little maiden chatted as freely as if we
had been very old acquaintances. "She supposed that, like all strangers,
we had been to see le Folgoët? It was a fine church, but its miraculous
fountain was the best of all. Once, when she hurt her foot, grandpère
carried her across the fields to the fountain. She bathed her foot in
the water and said a prayer and offered a candle, and--vite, vite!--the
foot was well. In three days she could run about. But that was two years
ago, when she was a very little girl; now she was quite big."

"How old was she now?"

"She was twelve, and very soon would do her first communion, dressed all
in white, with a beautiful veil over her head. Should we not like to see
her?"

"We should, very much."

"Could we not come again next year, when it would take place? She should
so much like us to see her. Là! voilà l'hôtel!" she cried, passing
rapidly from one subject to another, after the manner of childhood. "Now
she must run back home. And we were to be sure and come again next
year."

And before we could turn, the child had darted away, evidently to
prevent the possibility of reward: a refined instinct for which we
should scarcely have given her credit. She may have been a Bretonne, but
not a true Bretonne; her gracefulness and intelligence almost forbade