flood was so great that they could not cross
the meadows, for our cottage is a good bit from
Colomberque, where both were at work. I
was not frightened, because I knew all was
safe, and I knew, too, the reason they did not
come; but, though Florentine and the others
slept well, I could not, because the pig did
nothing but grunt, it was so uneasy, not being
in its usual place, poor thing! It was but
just light in the morning when I looked out,
and saw that the water was all gone down,
and, presently, I heard mamma's voice calling.
I ran down and opened the door, and she
came in, very pale, and cried out, 'Where
are the children?' I began to laugh, and
pointed upstairs, on which she up there
like lightning, and found them all, and the
pig too. She was afraid I should not take
care of the little ones, and that they were
all drowned. Presently papa returned, and
there he stood, and cried like a child, and
kissed us all, and particularly the pig;
for it would have been a great loss if he
had been drowned, as two others had died,
and there was only this one left. We have a
good many hardships in the country; but yet
one is sorry to leave home: however, it is
necessary to decide when one grows as old as
I am; and if we both go on well, we shall be
able to do a good deal for the poor good
mamma who loves us all dearly; but if I was
to take the value of a sous from any one, she
is capable of beating me. My youngest
brother César is strong and as good as gold,
and leads the other to school every day; and
poor Alexis is so clever! he can read and
write, and we think some day he will manage
to get his bread some way, if his health were
only better. César minds the cows now, as I
used. Once I went with Florentine to cut
grass for the cows at the top of a little hill,
pretty steep, and had cut a great deal—more
almost than I could carry, for I was quite
small then—we had tied the great load which
I carried on my head with cords, and fastened
it round my neck and waist, and we set off
back. I was quite glad at having got so
much, but was not able to see where I was
going, when my foot slipped at the steep part
of the road, and down I rolled over and over,
load and all. I must have been smothered,
as I could not lift it off me, and the cords
kept it tight, if Florentine had not thought of
cutting the cords; as soon, as she did, I was
able to get out, and we managed, with two
or three journeys, to get the grass home, which
was a capital thing for the cows, and we were
all so glad. It was so clever of Florentine to
think of cutting the cords!"

Sabine would probably have found in her
memory some other incidents in her long
and varied life to tell me, if the obstinacy of
the fire had not been subdued, and all
excuse for lingering disposed of. Added
to which the shrill voice of her master
downstairs caused her to start away, with
the parting remark, that I was quite at
liberty at all times to call her, when
my fire refused to obey. This promise of
patronage I treasure up, as I feel sure that
every day the same event will occur; the
same necessity of opening all the windows
to let out the smoke, and at the same time
letting in the cold blast which blows all
stray sheets of paper about the room, swells
out the crimson and white curtains into
supplementary drapery, bangs all the doors, and
causes universal uproar; after which the logs
blaze energetically for a few moments, and
then sink into smothering repose amongst
their braise. My hostess, who is economical
of fire, as most French people are, comes
smiling into my room with an elaborately
carved bronze article in her hand, which
looks like a jewel casket of the Middle Ages,
but which I find to be a chaufferette of bronze,
which she proposes, with my permission, to
fill with the little glowing half-burnt scraps
of wood which give an appearance of warmth
to my hearth, like the bits of tinsel at the tip
of a bon-bon representing a cigar, destined on
the day of Saint Nicolas to take in children
of all growths. Throughout the winter, however
sharp the weather may chance to be, she
is content to sit in a fireless room with her
feet on this machine, and professes to be
rendered extremely comfortable by its
influence. Her maids—when once set down to
work at their needles, which they always find
time to do for some hours of the day—have
no other warmth than what a humbler chaufferette
dispenses. She talks all the time she is
filling her casket, and remarks as she retires,
after numerous acknowledgments, "Well, if
I have stolen the worth of two farthings, I
have left your fire sixpence better." Which
is quite true; for she has a lucky hand with
the logs, and they always burn after she has
placed them in order.

Monsieur, however, declares that he surpasses
her in that accomplishment, as also in
making the salad; consequently, a standing
contention exists, in which a good deal of
domestic wit and banter comes into play
every day, relative to the goodness of that
indispensable part of a French dinner, the
inevitable salad. Monsieur is certainly a
wonderful little man! There is nothing he
would not undertake, and but few things that
he cannot do; he turns his hand to anything.
We have, since I was last here, two rooms
thrown into one to make a good dining-room;
what hand but his removed the partition?—
The panels of the three doors are painted
with groups of flowers, fruit, game, and other
adornments; who but he performed those
miracles of art? Then there are three long
windows in the room which open into an ugly
dim court; these are now, by his skill, all
encrusted with paint to imitate rough glass,
and spotted with glowing stars in a most
animated style. Over the dining table is a
globe with a jet of gas, which makes the
whole place luminous: his hand directed the