of the
far-off Lake of Belle-Marie.

"Do you see it?" asked the Singing Mouse.

"You mean--"

"The moon there through the window? Do you see the moon and the
stars? Do you know where they are shining to-night? Do you see
them, there, deep in the water? Do you know where that is? Do
you know the water? I know. It is Lake Belle-Marie."

And all I could do was to sit speechless. For the fire was gone,
and the wall was open, and the room was not a room. The voice of
the Singing Mouse, shrill and sweet, droned on a thousand miles
away in smallness, but every word a crystal of regret and joy.

"A thousand feet deep, or more, or bottomless, lies Lake
Belle-Marie, for no man has ever fathomed it. But no matter how
deep, the moon lies to-night at the bottom, and you can see it
shining there, deep down in the blue. The stars are smaller,
so they stay up and sparkle on the surface. The forest is very
black to-night, is it not? and the shadow of the pines on the
point looks like a mass of actual substance. Wait! Did you see
that silver creature leap from the quiet water? You may know the
shadow is but a shadow, for you can see the chasing ripples pass
through it and break it up into a crinkled fabric of the night.

"Do you see the pines waving, away up there in their tops, and
do you hear them talking? They are always talking. To-night they
are saying: 'Hush, Belle-Marie; slumber, Belle-Marie; we will
watch, we will watch, hush, hush, hush!' Didn't you ever know
what the pines said? They wish no one ever to come near Lake
Belle-Marie. Well for you that you only sat and looked at the
face of Belle-Marie, and cast no line nor fired untimely shot
around such shores! The pines would have been angry and would
have crushed you. You do not know how they live, seeking only to
keep Belle-Marie from the world, standing close and sturdy
together and threatening any who approach. It would break their
hearts to have her hiding-place found out. You do not know how
they love her. The pines are old, old, old, many of them, but
they told me that no footprint of man was ever seen upon those
shores, that no boat ever rested on that little sea, neither did
ever a treacherous line wrinkle even the smallest portion of its
smoothest coves. Believe me, to have Belle-Marie known would
break the hearts of the pines. They told me they lived all the
time only that they might every night sing Belle-Marie to sleep,
and every morning look upon her face