ofoundly. This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses of
champagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe.

Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his
godfather. And why had he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss
Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed
in front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then
they had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin
skirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to
display four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and
clearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at these
little feet, and asked himself this question:

"Which are the smaller?"

While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said to
him in a low voice:

"Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean!"

"Miss Percival?"

"Look at the Cure, he is asleep."

"Oh! it is my fault."

"How your fault?" asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low voice.

"Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early;
he told me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame de
Longueval was here he very often had a nap after dinner. You have shown
him so much kindness that he has fallen back into his old habits."

"And he is perfectly right," said Bettina, "do not make a noise, do not
wake him."

"You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is getting a little
fresh."

"Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. Stay, I will go and fetch a wrap
for him."

"I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try and wake him
skilfully, so that he should not suspect that you had seen him asleep."

"Let me do it," said Bettina. "Susie, let us sing together, very softly
at first, then we will raise our voices little by little, let us sing."

"Willingly, but what shall we sing?"

"Let us sing, 'Quelque chose d'enfantin,' the words are suitable."

Susie and Bettina began to sing:

If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,

Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite sonority in that
profound silence. The Abbe heard nothing, did not move. Charmed with
this little concert, Jean said to himself:

"Heaven grant that my godfather may not wake too soon!"

The voices became clearer and louder:

But in my sleep to you I fly,
I'm always with you in my sleep.

Yet the Abbe did not st