s for operations on children, others
round and soft, of feathers, of down, of the skins of unknown animals,
made to lay upon the tender skin the caresses of fragrant powders or of
powerful liquid perfumes.

She handled them a long time with practised fingers, carrying them from
her lips to her temples with touches softer than a kiss, correcting
imperfections, underlining the eyes, beautifying the eyelashes. At last,
when she went down stairs, she felt almost sure that the first glance
cast upon her would not be too unfavorable.

"Where is Monsieur Bertin?" she inquired of a servant she met in the
vestibule.

"Monsieur Bertin is in the orchard, playing tennis with Mademoiselle,"
the man replied.

She heard them from a distance counting the points. One after the other,
the deep voice of the painter and the light one of the young girl,
called: "Fifteen, thirty, forty, vantage, deuce, vantage, game!"

The orchard, where a space had been leveled for a tennis-court, was
a great, square grass-plot, planted with apple-trees, inclosed by the
park, the vegetable-garden, and the farms belonging to the castle. Along
the slope that formed a boundary on three sides, like the defenses of
an intrenched camp, grew borders of various kinds of flowers, wild and
cultivated, roses in masses, pinks, heliotrope, fuchsias, mignonnette,
and many more, which as Bertin said gave the air a taste of honey.
Besides this, the bees, whose hives, thatched with straw, lined the
wall of the vegetable-garden, covered the flowery field in their yellow,
buzzing flight.

In the exact center of this orchard a few apple-trees had been cut down,
in order to make a good court for tennis, and a tarry net, stretched
across this space, separated it into two camps.

Annette, on one side, with bare head, her black skirt caught up, showing
her ankles and half way up to her knee when she ran to catch a ball,
dashed to and fro, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, tired, out of
breath with the sure and practised play of her adversary.

He, in white flannels, fitting tightly over the hips, a white shirt,
and a white tennis cap, his abdomen somewhat prominent in that costume,
awaited the ball coolly, judged its fall with precision, received and
returned it without haste, without running, with the elegant pose, the
passionate attention, and professional skill which he displayed in all
athletic sports.

It was Annette that spied her mother first.

"Good morn