attendants, nor a fairy king lovelier and less earthly ones.

He looked in heavy amazement from one to the other. Rose bent, and was
by some supple process on one knee, taking the measure of the wounded
foot. When she first approached it he winced: but the next moment he
smiled. He had never been touched like this--it was contact and no
contact--she treated his foot as the zephyr the violets--she handled
it as if it had been some sacred thing. By the help of his eye he
could just know she was touching him. Presently she informed him he
was measured for a list shoe: and she would run home for the materials.
During her absence came a timid tap to the door; and Edouard Riviere
entered. He was delighted to see Josephine, and made sure Rose was not
far off. It was Dard who let out that she was gone to Beaurepaire for
some cloth to make him a shoe. This information set Edouard fidgeting
on his chair. He saw such a chance as was not likely to occur again. He
rose with feigned nonchalance, and saying, "I leave you in good hands;
angel visitors are best enjoyed alone," slowly retired, with a deep
obeisance. Once outside the door, dignity vanished in alacrity; he flew
off into the park, and ran as hard as he could towards the chateau.
He was within fifty yards of the little gate, when sure enough Rose
emerged. They met; his heart beat violently. "Mademoiselle," he
faltered.

"Ah! it is Monsieur Riviere, I declare," said Rose, coolly; all over
blushes though.

"Yes, mademoiselle, and I am so out of breath. Mademoiselle Josephine
awaits you at Dard's house."

"She sent you for me?" inquired Rose, demurely.