beauty nor to her industry that she was
indebted for becoming the heroine of our tale,
although her success in finding work, when
others could find none, had made envious
tongues gossip about her. Village scandal is
very like town scandal; as like as a silken
masquerade costume is to its linsey-woolsey
original; the form is the same, the texture
alone is different; and at the well of
Beauregard, from which water was fetched and
where the salad for supper was washed, it
was whispered that Alix was a coquette, and
that the remote cause of her prosperity was
the influence which her bright eyes had
obtained over the strong heart of the
Bailiff of Beauregard. Every one wished
that good might come of it, but—

But, in the meanwhile, good did come
of it; for, thanks to the large black eyes that
looked so frankly into his, and to the merry
smile of the village beauty, Monsieur Reboul
had come to the knowledge of Alix's cheerful
steady activity; and a feeling of respect had
mingled with his early admiration when he
discovered that, while no one was more
particular in the payment of lawful dues than
the hard-working girl, no one resisted more
strenuously any illegal exactions, At length
the stricken bailiff—who, by-the-by, was
double Alix's age—testified the sincerity of
his feelings towards her by taking her brother
Jean into the household at the castle, and
even offered to have Alix herself admitted
among the personal attendants of one of the
young ladies of Beauregard; whose marriage
had lately been celebrated with great
magnificence in Paris.

But Alix shook her pretty head, and
said, "No, she thanked him all the same,"
with a smile that showed her pearly
teeth; and what man in love—though a
bailiff—could resent a denial so sweetly
accompanied? Monsieur Reboul was,
indeed, for a moment cast down, but his
spirits were soon revived by some of those
wonderful explanations which men in his
predicament generally have at their
command; so he left the cottage with a friendly
adieu to the smiling girl, and without a
suspicion that Alix had any private reasons for
her dislike to leave the village, or that the
daily greeting of Francois the stone-cutter
was a matter of more moment to her than
the prettiest compliments of the Bailiff of
Beauregard.

The next day was market-day at Maillot, a
town about two leagues distant from the
village, whither, for four years, Alix had been
accustomed to go once a week with poultry
and eggs; her great resource for the rent of
her grand-dame's hut. It was a matter
of rivalry among the young women of the
neighbourhood to be first at market; and
Alix, who greatly enjoyed supremacy in
everything, had endeavoured in this, as in all
else, to surpass her companions. This,
however, was not very easy, for others could rise
betimes, as she did herself. A few months
before, an accidental discovery of her brother
Jean had at length secured for her the
envied privilege. Jean, like other idle lads
of his class, was necessarily a poacher, and,
on one of his secret expeditions into the
forest which lay between Beauregard and
Maillot had chanced to fall upon a path
by which the distance between the two places
was shortened by at least a third. This
discovery he confided to Alix; and ever since,
under his guidance and escort, she had
availed herself of it to reach Maillot earlier
and with less fatigue than her companions.
She had found the walk very pleasant when
Jean was with her to carry her basket, and
with his boyish sallies to prevent her from
dwelling on the superstitious terrors with
which tradition had invested the forest; but
now that she must tread its tangled paths
alone, she hesitated, and was half tempted to
relinquish the daring project. Still she felt
unwilling to yield the honour of being first,
without a struggle. Besides, her companions
had always given her a reputation for
courage, and although she had a secret
conviction that she owed it solely to her young
brother's reflected bravery, it is a reputation
which young girls prize so highly, that,
rather than forfeit it, they will rush recklessly
into real dangers, from which, if they escape,
it is by their good fortune, and not by
their boasted courage.

Alix could not endure to allow to others
that she was afraid. No, no, she must
not permit that to be said, nor must she
expose herself to the jeers and laughter of
those who would delight to hear that she
was not first at market. She must go by
the wood-path, and must go early. And
so thinking, she laid her down to rest.

The part of France in which Alix was
born and brought up is full of historical
remains, and therefore abounds with traditions,
the more mystical and terrible from
the dash of paganism with which they are
mixed up. Not a forest, ruin, or grotto,
is without some picturesque legend, which
the young listen to from the lips of the aged
with shuddering delight; and all that
Alix had ever heard of the forest of
Beauregard, or of any other haunted wood in the
province, rose with disagreeable tenacity to
her memory on this particular night. She
remembered the darkness and gloom of the
old trees, the thickness of the brushwood,
and shuddered as she thought of the possibility
of meeting the Couleuvre-Fée— the
Melusina of Provence— or the Chèvre d'Or, who
confides the secret resting-place of hidden
treasures to the wandering traveller, only to
afflict him with incurable melancholy if he
prove himself unworthy of riches. As the
dread of these supernatural creatures
increased upon her with the silence and
darkness of night, she hid her head beneath the
counterpane, and wisely resolved to dare all