le simply. "The land is an usurpation, with no title-deed but
lapse of time. And, therefore, to avoid all worry, I should wish to come
to a friendly understanding as to my border line on this side of the
Dent de Vilard, and I will then raise a wall."

"If you give way to the municipality, it will swallow you up. You ought
to have threatened Riceys."

"That is just what I told the master last evening," said Modinier.
"But in confirmation of that view I proposed that he should come to see
whether, on this side of the Dent or on the other, there may not be,
high or low, some traces of an enclosure."

For a century the Dent de Vilard had been used by both parties without
coming to extremities; it stood as a sort of party wall between the
communes of Riceys and les Rouxey, yielding little profit. Indeed, the
object in dispute, being covered with snow for six months in the year,
was of a nature to cool their ardor. Thus it required all the hot blast
by which the revolution of 1830 inflamed the advocates of the people, to
stir up this matter, by which Monsieur Chantonnit, the Maire of Riceys,
hoped to give a dramatic turn to his career on the peaceful frontier of
Switzerland, and to immortalize his term of office. Chantonnit, as his
name shows, was a native of Neuchatel.

"My dear father," said Rosalie, as they got into the boat again, "I
agree with Modinier. If you wish to secure the joint possession of the
Dent de Vilard, you must act with decision, and get a legal opinion
which will protect you against this enterprising Chantonnit. Why should
you be afraid? Get the famous lawyer Savaron--engage him at once, lest
Chantonnit should place the interests of the village in his hands. The
man who won the case for the Chapter against the town can certainly win
that of Watteville _versus_ Riceys! Besides," she added, "les Rouxey
will some day be mine--not for a long time yet, I trust.--Well, then
do not leave me with a lawsuit on my hands. I like this place, I shall
often live here, and add to it as much as possible. On those banks," and
she pointed to the feet of the two hills, "I shall cut flowerbeds and
make the loveliest English gardens. Let us go to Besancon and bring back
with us the Abbe de Grancey, Monsieur Savaron, and my mother, if she
cares to come. You can then make up your mind; but in your place I
should have done so already. Your name is Watteville, and you are afraid
of a fight! If you should lose your case--well,