blessed treasure upon earth!" cried
Jacques, seizing the hand of Belle-bouche, which hung down, and
enraptured that she did not withdraw it.

Belle-bouche understood perfectly that Jacques referred to their
meeting on that day when she had been reading in the forest, and had
fled from him across the stream. Her roseate blush betrayed her.

"If only that bright dream of love could be a reality for me!" he
whispered; "if one I love so----"

"Oh, Miss Bel! the girls sent for you--the pyramid is ready!" cried
the merry voice of little Martha.

And running toward Belle-bouche, the girl told her that they really
must have her in the garden "before the procession commenced."

Poor Jacques drew back groaning.

"There's another chance gone!" he sighed; "what luck I have! I'm
always interrupted, and the fates are leagued against me."

Belle-bouche left him with a blush and a smile, and disappeared.

Ten minutes afterwards the company had reassembled on the lawn, and
seemed to be anxiously expecting something.

This something suddenly made its appearance, and advanced into the
open space with merriment and laughter.

It was a party of young girls who, clad in all the colors of the
rainbow, bore in their midst a pyramid of silver dishes wreathed with
flowers, and overflowing with strawberries and early fruits. It was a
revival of the old May-day ceremonies in London, when the milkmaids
wreathed their buckets with flowers, and passed from door to door,
singing and asking presents. Jacques had arranged it all--the
philosophic and antiquarian Jacques; and with equal taste he had
selected the beautiful verses of Marlow or Shakspeare, for the chorus
of maidens.

The maidens approached the company, therefore, merrily singing, in
their childlike voices, the song:

"Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields,
Or woods and steepy mountains yields;

"Where we will sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed our flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

"And I will make thee beds of roses,
And then a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

"A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lined choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;