yet quite regained its regular throb.

But the happiest of all was the Abbe Constantin.

This little episode which had caused Jean's modesty such a rude, yet
sweet trial, had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbe bore his godson such
affection. The most tender father never loved more warmly the dearest of
his children. When the old Cure looked at the young officer, he often
said to himself:

"Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, and I have a son!"

The Abbe sank into a very agreeable reverie; he felt himself at home,
he felt himself too much at home; by degrees his ideas became hazy and
confused, reverie became drowsiness, drowsiness became slumber, the
disaster was soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and slept
profoundly. This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses of
champagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe.

Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his
godfather. And why had he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss
Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed
in front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then
they had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin
skirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to
display four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and
clearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at these
little feet, and asked himself this question:

"Which are the smaller?"