n the shallow, trickling
water widened into a little fall crossed by a few planks;
there were trees and bushes on each side, and the grassy
garden bank sloped down to the stream. It was very green, and
peaceful and dewy. Horace stood still for a minute looking at
the flickering lights and shadows, and watching the dash and
current of the water.

"_Fi donc, Mademoiselle, tu n'es pas raisonnable_," cries a
sweet shrill little voice close to him, "_tu es vraiment
insupportable aujourd'hui_."

He turned round and saw a child between five and six years
old, dressed in a shabby little merino frock and white
pinafore, standing with her back towards him, and holding out
a doll at arm's length, its turned-out pink leather toes just
touching the ground.

"_Veux-tu bien etre sage?_" continues the small monitress with
much severity, "_encore une fois, un, deux, trois!_" and she
made a little dancing-step backwards; then with an air of
encouragement, "_Allons, mon amie, du courage!_ We must be
perfect in our steps for this evening, for you know, Sophie,
if you refuse to dance, M. le Prince will be in despair, and
M. le Baron will put his hand on his heart and cry, 'Alas,
mademoiselle, you have no pity, and my heart is desolated!' "

"Madelon!" cries a voice through the trees in the distance.

"_Me voici, papa!_" she answered, stopping the dancing-lesson
and looking round. As she did so she caught sight of Horace,
and gazed up in his face with a child's deliberate stare. She
had great brown eyes, a little round fair face, and light hair
curling all over her head. She looked up at him quite
fearlessly for a moment, and then darted away, dashing against
somebody who was coming along the path, and disappeared.

"Take care, _ma petite;_ you nearly knocked me down!" cried a
good-humoured voice, belonging to a large gentleman with a
ruddy face, and black hair and beard. "Ah! good morning,
Monsieur," he continued as he approached Horace; "I rejoice to
see that you have not yet quitted Chaudfontaine, as you spoke
of doing last night."

"I have changed my mind," said Horace, smiling as he
recognised his fellow-traveller of the night before. "I think
of staying here to-day, and not leaving for Brussels till to-
morrow morning."

"You will not regret it," said his companion, as they turned
back towards the hotel, and walked on slowly together; "it is
true there is not much here to tempt you during the day; but
numbers will arrive