ers growing there.

Sometimes we passed a flock of sheep guarded by a shepherd much more
countrified looking and tanned than those seen in the meadows about our
town. Lonely and sun-scorched, Chaumes seemed to me the very threshold
of Limoise: it had its very odor, the mingled scent of wild thyme and
sweet marjoram.

At the end of the rocky moor was the hamlet of Frelin. I love this
name of Frelin, for I think of it as being derived from those large
and fierce hornets (frelons) that build their nests in the heart of a
certain species of oak tree found in the forests of Limoise; to get rid
of these pests it is necessary, in the springtime, to build great fires
around the infested trees. This hamlet was composed of three or four
cottages. They were all low, as is the custom of our country, and they
were old, very old and gray; above the little rounded doorways were
half-effaced ornamental Gothic scrolls and blazonments. I scarcely ever
saw them except at dusk, as twilight was falling, and the hour and
the quaint little houses themselves awoke in me an appreciation of the
mystery of their past; above all these humble dwellings attested to the
antiquity of this rocky ground, so much older than the meadows of our
town which had been won from the sea, and where nothing that dates
before the time to Louis XIV is to be found.

As soon as we left Frelin I commenced to look eagerly along the path
ahead of me, for after that we usually spied Lucette, either afoot or
in a carriage, coming to meet us. As soon as I caught a glimpse of her I
would run ahead to embrace her.

On our way through the village we passed the tiny church, a wonder of
the twelfth century, built in the rarest and most ancient Romanesque
style;--and then as the shadows of evening deepened we saw, in the
semi-darkness before us, something that had the form of tall dark
legions: it was the forest of Limoise, composed almost wholly of
evergreen oaks, whose foliage is very dark and sombre. We then came into
the road leading directly to the house; on our way we passed the well
where the patient, thirsty cattle awaited their turn to drink. And
finally we opened the little old gate, and traversed the first grassy
courtyard which the shadowing trees, a century old, plunged into almost
total darkness.

The house lay between this courtyard and a large uncultivated garden
that extended to the edge of the oak forest. As we entered the ancient
dwelling, with its whitew