eption
is possible."

For some moments the Cure had not been listening to Paul's discourse.
They had entered a long, perfectly straight avenue, and at the end of
this avenue the Cure saw a horseman galloping along.

"Look," said the Cure to Paul, "your eyes are better than mine. Is not
that Jean?"

"Yes, it is jean. I know his gray mare."

Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider looked at the horse.
It was indeed Jean, who, when he saw in the distance the Cure and Paul
de Lavardens, waved in the air his kepi adorned with two golden stripes.
Jean was lieutenant in the regiment of artillery quartered at Souvigny.

Some moments after he stopped by the little carriage, and, addressing
the Cure, said:

"I have just been to your house, 'mon parrain'. Pauline told me that you
had gone to Souvigny about the sale. Well, who has bought the castle?"

"An American, Mrs. Scott."

"And Blanche-Couronne?"

"The same, Mrs. Scott."

"And La Rozeraie?"

"Mrs. Scott again."

"And the forest? Mrs. Scott again?"

"You have said it," replied Paul, "and I know Mrs. Scott, and I can
promise you that there will be something going on at Longueval. I will
introduce you. Only it is distressing to Monsieur l'Abbe because she is
an American--a Protestant."

"Ah! that is true," said Jean, sympathizingly. "However, we will talk
about it to-morrow. I am going to dine with you, godfather; I have
warned Pauline of my visit; no time to stop to-day. I am on duty, and
must be in quarters at three o'clock."

"Stables?" asked Paul.

"Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather."

The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens gave his little horse
her head.

"What a capital fellow Jean is!" said Paul.

"Oh, yes, indeed!"

"There is no one on earth better than Jean."

"No, no one."

The Cure turned round to take another look at Jean, who was almost lost
in the depths of the forest.

"Oh, yes, there is you, Monsieur le Cure."

"No, not me! not me!"

"Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, shall I tell you what I think? I think there is
no one better than you two--you and Jean. That is the truth, if I must
tell you. Oh! what a splendid place for a trot! I shall let Niniche go;
I call her Niniche."

With the point of his whip Paul caressed the flank of Niniche, who
started off at full speed, and Paul, delighted, cried:

"Just look at her action, Monsieur l'Abbe! just look at her action! So
regular--just like clockwork. Lean over an