n a desperate rage.

"What, my pet angry with his darling old deary? Well, if it must be so,
it must. Have your own way; you have a right to it. Good night, blind
sheep!"

"The field-gate is wide open, so walk alone, Mister No-eyes; and, if you
toddle straight, you'll reach the right road somehow," said Tortillard,
laughing heartily.

"Oh, that I could die! die! die!" said the Schoolmaster, writhing and
twisting his arms about in agony.

At this moment, Tortillard, stooping to the ground, exclaimed, in a low
voice:

"I hear footsteps in the path; let us hide; it is not the young miss,
for they come the same way as she did."

On the instant, a stout peasant girl in the prime of youth, followed by
a large shepherd's dog, carrying on her head an open basket, appeared,
and followed the same path which the priest and the Goualeuse had taken.
We will rejoin the two latter, leaving the three accomplices concealed
in the hollow of the path.

CHAPTER V.

THE RECTORY-HOUSE.

The last rays of the sun were gradually disappearing behind the vast
pile of the Chateau d'Ecouen and the woods which surrounded it. On all
sides, until the sight lost them in the distance, were vast tracts of
land lying in brown furrows hardened by the frost--an extensive desert,
of which the hamlet of Bouqueval appeared to be the oasis. The sky,
which was serenely glorious, was tinted by the sunset, and glowed with
long lines of empurpled light, the certain token of wind and cold. These
tints, which were at first of a deep red, became violet; then a bluish
black, as the twilight grew more and more dark on the atmosphere. The
crescent of the moon was as delicately and clearly defined as a silver
ring, and began to shine beautifully in the midst of the blue and dimmed
sky, where many stars already had appeared. The silence was profound;
the hour most solemn. The curate stopped for a moment on the summit of
the acclivity to enjoy the calm of this delicious evening. After some
minutes' reflection, he extended his trembling hand towards the depths
of the horizon, half veiled by the shadows of the evening, and said to
Fleur-de-Marie, who was walking pensively beside him:

"Look, my child, at the vastness and extent to which we have no visible
limit; we hear not the slightest sound. Say, does not this silence give
us an idea of infinity and of eternity? I say this to you, Marie,
because you are peculiarly sensitive of the beauties of creation.