he_ lives by a lake! A lake is certainly
full of love!" she thought.

A lake fed by snows has opalescent colors and a translucency that makes
it one huge diamond; but when it is shut in like that of les Rouxey,
between two granite masses covered with pines, when silence broods over
it like that of the Savannas or the Steppes, then every one must exclaim
as Rosalie did.

"We owe that," said her father, "to the notorious Watteville."

"On my word," said the girl, "he did his best to earn forgiveness. Let
us go in a boat to the further end; it will give us an appetite for
breakfast."

The Baron called two gardener lads who knew how to row, and took
with him his prime minister Modinier. The lake was about six acres
in breadth, in some places ten or twelve, and four hundred in length.
Rosalie soon found herself at the upper end shut in by the Dent de
Vilard, the Jungfrau of that little Switzerland.

"Here we are, Monsieur le Baron," said Modinier, signing to the
gardeners to tie up the boat; "will you come and look?"

"Look at what?" asked Rosalie.

"Oh, nothing!" exclaimed the Baron. "But you are a sensible girl; we
have some little secrets between us, and I may tell you what ruffles
my mind. Some difficulties have arisen since 1830 between the village
authorities of Riceys and me, on account of this very Dent de Vilard,
and I want to settle the matter without your mother's knowing anything
about it, for she is stubborn; she is capable of flinging fire and
flames broadcast, particularly if she should hear that the Mayor of
Riceys, a republican, got up this action as a sop to his people."

Rosalie had presence of mind enough to disguise her delight, so as to
work more effectually on her father.

"What action?" said she.

"Mademoiselle, the people of Riceys," said Modinier, "have long enjoyed
the right of grazing and cutting fodder on their side of the Dent de
Vilard. Now Monsieur Chantonnit, the Maire since 1830, declares that the
whole Dent belongs to his district, and maintains that a hundred years
ago, or more, there was a way through our grounds. You understand that
in that case we should no longer have them to ourselves. Then this
barbarian would end by saying, what the old men in the village say,
that the ground occupied by the lake was appropriated by the Abbe de
Watteville. That would be the end of les Rouxey; what next?"

"Indeed, my child, between ourselves, it is the truth," said Monsieur
de Wattevil