no English girl would have written so pretty a
letter. Not because she was an English girl,
but because the English will not permit her to
say 'nothing' in such a sweet endearing way
as it is expressed in this letter."

"Exactly so, Robert. I felt just as you did,
when I read the letter. What a darling, I
thought, must the writer be."

"First of all, she recals herself to Pet's
memory, asking her, if in the bowers of her
lovely and good thoughts she permits the name
and face of a schoolfellow still to retain a place
there. Never can she forget, but repeats
still, the few words of that rough language of
which her soul's beloved (meaning Pet,
I presume) was so justly proud. Until at last, she
is devoured, by what in English we should
call an insatiable longing, to learn more of this
fine tongue."

"That is exactly as I made it out, Robert;
and that she can only do so properly by coming
to England."

"And why should she not come to England.
Patty?"

"That is it. She wishes to live with some
people who only speak English."

"You blush, Patty. Now what does all this
mean? A plot—a feminine plot—I'll be bound."

"Of course, Robert, it is of no use her going
to stay with Pet, because they would speak
nothing but French all day. And she is of very
high family—a countess, I believe—or her father
is a count or something. And she will pay three
hundred a year."

"Three hundred fiddle-strings. I see what
you and Pet are at. Truly, if she came here
she might chance to hear 'au fait' from my little
wife, but deuce a bit——"

"Oh, Robert, don't swear. Is it not the
oddest thing in the world, the impatience of
men? Think of your barn."

"My barn! Now, Patty, you have puzzled
me more than ever. What possible connexion
is there between a young French lady and my
intended barn?"

"You could build it, you know, for a hundred
and fifty pounds."

"And are you so poor a calculator, Patty, as not
to know a French countess will cost more than
three hundred a year to keep. There is her maid."

"She is not going to bring one."

"She will want a carriage."

"She pays for those sort of things herself."

"Pooh! child. I see you have set your heart
on her coming—and, considering I only heard
you last night blessing your stars you had
nothing to do with such people, all because the
newspaper told of a French girl eloping, is to
me the oddest——"

"But that was such a story, Robert.
Implicating one of our nobility; and I have no
doubt he was nothing of the sort, but a common
adventurer, and she must have been as wicked
as wicked."

"Usually French girls are much more strictly
brought up than our girls, and anything in the
shape of an elopement is so extraordinary, that
a great fuss has been made about this one. But
there—I have no more time to waste. I must see
Pet, and make more inquiries about her school-
fellow before I can consent to have my privacy
destroyed, even for the sake of building my
barn."

How lucky it was I thought of the bam!

I wrote to tell Pet, and she came down about
five o'clock, bringing with her all the plans of
barns that ever were invented. She is wonderfully
clever, is Pet, at seizing opportunities.

CHAPTER II.

WELL, the end of it all was, that one fine
evening the squire's carriage, properly driven
by a steady coachman and most amiable horses,
drove up to our door, with Pet in it, and——

Goodness gracious me! the very loveliest
creature that ever I beheld. To what shall I
liken her? A violet—a lily—a rose? The bluest,
sweetest eyes, with such eyelashes—really they
were almost too heavy—quite shading her
cheek. Such a cheek, no peach was ever so
delicate; such dewy lips; a nose—oh, goodness!
I never saw such a nose but on a statue,
and then the statue wanted the beautiful colour.

"Best Patty," said Pet, laughing, "you have
lost your wife. Is she not lovely?"

"Hush, Pet!"

"She has not even the little English I taught
her. She does not understand, but she sees you
think her pretty."

Truly, she was blushing; but she rose, and,
with a grace beyond powers of description, spoke
to Pet in French.

"She hopes," said Pet to me, " that you are
the English mother whom she is to love, Patty,
and says no mother shall ever have so good and
dutiful a child; the more so, because her English
mother is so young, and, indeed, but her sister."

As for me, I was not listening, I was thinking
so much of what Robert would say when he saw
her. The very loveliest creature. I have often
seen beautiful faces in pictures, but as for ever
expecting to see one in reality, that I never
did.

"Pet," I said, " 'tis positively wicked of her
people to let her go about by herself. She will
be mobbed. If I was ever so many people in
one, I should mob her myself."

"She did not come by herself. A priest came
with her, and an old ancient thing of a gouvernante
gave her into my care. Also, she had
on a veil, of a thickness most praiseworthy."

"I hope she will forgive me staring so. Has
he any sisters? Are they as pretty?"

"No, she is herself alone. But she has
brothers, and they are not kind to her."

"Not kind! Oh! my dear Pet, what savages!"

"They desire that she should marry a man of
a rank so high, that I am giddy to think of him;
but she sees that he is old, and of a temper as
high as his rank."

"Has she no father nor mother?"

"Yes, a father who is dévot, and a mother
who is of the court. They see her once a day;