ourney.

He was courteously received by Adele at the door. On her devolved
the duties of hostess, which she endeavoured to discharge
conscientiously.

She led her guest into the parlour where Mr. Rougeant was seated
before a fire in an easy-chair. Frank shook hands with him and
inquired how he felt.

"Not too bad, thank you," he replied, and beckoning Frank to a chair
close to him, he began to converse about his farm.

Frank listened and answered as well as he could, making a remark now
and then about agriculture which astonished the farmer considerably.
He had the tact to respect Mr. Rougeant's feelings, and the latter
was not slow in showing his appreciation of it.

"You seem to know more about farming than I do," remarked Mr.
Rougeant.

Frank felt flattered. He began to talk about agricultural chemistry,
but he was soon stopped by his host.

"I don't believe in theory," interrupted Mr. Rougeant, "give me
facts, show me results. A great many people write about farming who
can hardly distinguish a parsnip from a carrot."

The young man dared not go against the farmer. He saw, by his
manner, that he was not a man to be contradicted. He looked at
Adele. She was smiling, but directly her father looked round towards
her, her face became as grave as a nun's.

Mr. Rougeant continued triumphantly to talk about his farm. It was
all the world to him, and almost the only thing about which he could
converse.

He never read a book.

During the conversation Frank learnt that he had about one hundred
vergees of land, one fifth of which he kept, the remainder was let
to other farmers. He had but one workman, a man about sixty years
old, who had worked for the Rougeants for more than forty years. His
name was Jacques Dorant. Then, there was his horse; it was old now,
but still good. Ah! when he was younger, he was a splendid horse,
such strength, such form, such a fast trotter, frisky, but as gentle
as a lamb.

Thought Frank: "If he is to be credited, there has never been such a
horse since the days of Bucephalus, the famous horse of Alexander."

During the whole time that they had been in the parlour, the young
man had not found courage to address a word to Adele. He was very
careful about his tenure. He spoke in a voice which he endeavoured
to soften; he uttered the best English which he could frame,--for
Mr. Rougeant spoke in English this time--and when there was an
opportunity of displaying his talents, he avail