lready begun it. '_Ciel d'argent_--' you shall hear it
when it has progressed a little farther; at present it is in embryo
merely."

He sent for his sister, that they might arrange their plans before she
passed to her lessons, which were strictly kept up. She came, and my
heart spoke loud, telling me that all my vigil had brought to me was
true, and that I must begone. There was a new softness in her sweet
eyes, a tone in her voice,--oh, it was always kind,--but now a
tenderness that I must not hear. She would see my hands; could not
believe that I was not seriously wounded; vowed that her aunt was a
magician; "though I prayed long, long, last night, monsieur, that the
wounds might heal quickly. They are really--no! look, Yvon! look! these
terrible blisters! but, they are frightful, M. D'Arthenay. You--surely
you should not have left your room, in this condition?"

Not only this, I assured her, but I was so entirely well that I hoped to
ride with them this afternoon, if the matter could be arranged. She
listened with delight while Yvon detailed his plan; presently her face
fell a little.

"Walk back!" she said. "Yes, Yvon, what could be more delightful? but
when I tell you that the sole is sprung from my walking-shoe, and it
must go to the village to be mended! How can I get it back in time?"

A thought came to me. "If mademoiselle would let me see the shoe?" I
said. "Perhaps I can arrange it for her." Yvon frowned and pshawed; he
did not like any mention of my shoemaking; this was from no unworthy
feeling, but because he thought the trade unsuited to me. I, however,
repeated my request, and, greatly wondering, the young lady sent a
servant for the shoe. I took it in my hand with pleasure; it was not
only beautiful, but well made. "Here is an easy matter!" I said,
smiling. "Will mademoiselle see how they mend shoes in my country?" A
hammer was soon found, and sitting down on a low bench, I tapped away,
and soon had the pretty thing in order again. Mademoiselle Valerie cried
out upon my cleverness. "But, you can then do anything you choose,
monsieur?" she said. "To play the violin, to save a life, to mend a
shoe,--do they teach all these things in your country? and to what
wonderful school did you go?"

I said, to none more wonderful than a village school; and that this I
had indeed learned well, but on the cobbler's bench. "Surely Yvon has
told you, mademoiselle, of our good shoemaker, and how he taught me his
tra