e to him and his attentions, and hardly deigned to give him a
civil word, or to accept the cornflowers and late roses he brought her
from time to time. 'Mere weeds,' she said. And the grapes and Queen
Claude plums he brought her were always sour. Yet a something deep blue
might often be seen peeping above her trim little apron.

Not that Lanty had much time to disport himself in this fashion, for the
Abbe was his care, and was perfectly happy with a rod of his arranging,
with which to fish over the side. Little Ulysse was of course fired with
the same emulation, and dangled his line for an hour together. Estelle
would have liked to do the same, but her mother and Mademoiselle Julienne
considered the sport not _convenable_ for a _demoiselle_. Arthur was
once or twice induced to try the Abbe's rod, but he found it as mere a
toy as that of the boy; and the mere action of throwing it made his heart
so sick with the contrast with the 'paidling in the burns' of his
childhood, that he had no inclination to continue the attempt, either in
the slow canal or the broadening river.

He was still very shy with the Countess, who was not in spirits to set
him at ease; and the Abbe puzzled him, as is often the case when
inexperienced strangers encounter unacknowledged deficiency. The
perpetual coaxing chatter, and undisguised familiarity of La Jeunesse
with the young ecclesiastic did not seem to the somewhat haughty cast of
his young Scotch mind quite becoming, and he held aloof; but with the two
children he was quite at ease, and was in truth their great resource.

He made Ulysse's fishing-rod, baited it, and held the boy when he used
it--nay, he once even captured a tiny fish with it, to the ecstatic pity
of both children. He played quiet games with them, and told them
stories--conversed on Telemaque with Estelle, or read to her from his one
book, which was Robinson Crusoe--a little black copy in pale print, with
the margins almost thumbed away, which he had carried in his pocket when
he ran away from school, and nearly knew by heart.

Estelle was deeply interested in it, and varied in opinion whether she
should prefer Calypso's island or Crusoe's, which she took for as much
matter of fact as did, a century later, Madame Talleyrand, when, out of
civility to Mr. Robinson, she inquired after '_ce bon Vendredi_.'

She inclined to think she should prefer Friday to the nymphs.

'A whole quantity of troublesome womenfolk to fas