h have heard the
riotous beating of the little maiden's heart.

"And now, about that flower which I gave you this morning.
What did you do with it?"

"Ah, Monsieur, where were your eyes? I have worn it in
my hair all day. It is there now; it was there when you
came to our cottage this evening."

"Ah, I see. I am concerned with your head,--not with your
heart. Is that it, ma petite bright eye? You know our
white girls wear the flowers we give them under their
throats, or upon their bosom. This they do as a sign that
the donor occupies a place in their heart." He did not
perceive in the dusky moonlight, that he was covering
her with confusion. Upon no point was this little maiden
so sensitive, as when it was revealed to her that a
particular habit or act of hers differed from that of
the civilized white girl. Her dear little heart was almost
bursting with shame, and this thought was running through
her mind.

"Oh! what a savage I must seem in his eyes." Her own
unspoken words seemed to burn through her whole body.
"But how could I know where to wear my rose? I have read
in English books that gentle ladies wear them there."
And these lines of Tennyson came running through her
head.

"She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair."

And they gave her some relief, for she thought, after
all, that he might be only joking When the blood had gone
back from her forehead, she turned towards her lover,
who had been looking at her since speaking with somewhat
of a tender expression in his mischievous eyes.

"Do white girls never wear roses in their hair? I thought
they did. Can it be wrong for me to wear mine in the same
place?"

"Ah, my little barbarian, you do not understand me. If
an old bachelor, whose head shone like the moon there in
the sky, were to give to some blithe young belle a rose
or a lily, she would, most likely, twist it in her hair;
but if some other hand had presented the flower, one
whose eye was brighter, whose step was quicker, whose
laugh was cheerier, whose years were fewer; in short, ma
chere Marie, if some one for whom she cared just a little
bit more than for any other man that walked over the face
of creation, had presented it to her, she would not put
it in her hair. No, my little unsophisticated one, she
would feel about with her unerring fingers, for the spot
nearest her heart, and there she would fasten the gift.
Now, ma Marie, suppose you had possesse