iver it. The man took it with
a deep obeisance: "He could not deliver it himself, but would instantly
give it one of the Princess's suite, several of whom were about."

It may be remembered that Peter and Margaret came here not to dine, but
to find their cousin. Well, the old gentleman ate heartily, and--being
much fatigued, dropped asleep, and forgot all about his cousin. Margaret
did not remind him; we shall hear why.

Meanwhile, that Cousin was seated within a few feet of them, at their
backs, and discovered them when Margaret turned round and screamed
at the boar. But he forbore to speak to them, for municipal reasons.
Margaret was very plainly dressed, and Peter inclined to threadbare. So
the alderman said to himself:

"'Twill be time to make up to them when the sun sets and the company
disperses then I will take my poor relations to my house, and none will
be the wiser."

Half the courses were lost on Gerard and Margaret. They were no great
eaters, and just now were feeding on sweet thoughts that have ever been
unfavourable to appetite. But there is a delicate kind of sensuality,
to whose influence these two were perhaps more sensitive than any other
pair in that assembly--the delights of colour, music, and perfume, all
of which blended so fascinatingly here.

Margaret leaned back and half closed her eyes, and murmured to Gerard:
"What a lovely scene! the warm sun, the green shade, the rich dresses,
the bright music of the lutes and the cool music of the fountain, and
all faces so happy and gay! and then, it is to you we owe it."

Gerard was silent all but his eyes; observing which--

"Now, speak not to me," said Margaret languidly; "let me listen to the
fountain: what are you a competitor for?"

He told her.

"Very well! You will gain one prize, at least."

"Which? which? have you seen any of my work?"

"I? no. But you will gain a prize.

"I hope so; but what makes you think so?"

"Because you were so good to my father."

Gerard smiled at the feminine logic, and hung his head at the sweet
praise, and was silent.

"Speak not," murmured Margaret. "They say this is a world of sin and
misery. Can that be? What is your opinion?"

"No! that is all a silly old song," explained Gerard. "'Tis a byword our
elders keep repeating, out of custom: it is not true."

"How can you know? You are but a child," said Margaret, with pensive
dignity.

"Why, only look round! And then thought I had lost you for eve