"You could tell me, sir," I said, "what I
have been craving to learn these three hours
—namely the distance of these towns." And
I pointed up to the sign-board.

"Why," said the Abbé, " I have just come
from Petit-Pont. It is barely a league from
this."

"A long French league," I sighed.
"Perhaps Mèzes is nearer?"

"Two leagues and a-half," says he with a
gentle smile; "but there is a cross-road over
the fields, reducing it to scarce half a
league."

"Aye," I said, with another sigh; "but
full of all manner of turns and twists?"

"So it is," said the Abbé.

"I was going to see a poor sick peasant,"
he added, presently—(there was a little
basket under his cloak, doubtless holding
certain comfort for the sick peasant)— " but
a quarter of an hour's difference will not be
much matter. I will show you the way."

There was a little friendly contention on
this. I protested against this diversion from
his journey and its pious end. The trouble
—the fatigue. I would not for the world.

"'Twill be a pleasure," said my Abbé smiling.
And he had his own way.

Across the fields, then, by paths under
shade, and over stiles and past farming
cottages. Barely ten minutes and I heard
faint chiming as of bells very old and mellow.
"Petit-Pont church," I said, turning to the
Abbé, " that must be seven o'clock!"

He had stopped short suddenly, and was
fallen a little behind, describing figures on
the ground with his stick.

"Seven o'clock—seven by the clock!
just look here, sir."

I came up to him with a little wonder.

"See here," he said, still working with his
stick, "here was the escapement—here was
the lever. Barrels were behind—plenty of
tooth-wheels. I could have given any
number; and yet it wouldn't do!"

I looked from his stick to him with
increasing surprise. "What wouldn't do?" I
asked.

"Now, see," he said, with a curious look
in his eyes, "there was no reaching that
double movement—no! I might have
worked my poor brains out before that.
Wheels within wheels, indeed!"

I began to have a glimmering of how it
was with my poor Abbé. "We had best
make for Petit-Pont at once," I said to
him. " It is getting late."

"No, no!" he answered, sitting down upon
the bank. "I must stay here and work
the thing out. An idea has struck me. It
might bring the whole thing straight. The
beats being isochronous, of course." Then he
fell to making fresh figures. "Go your way,
monsieur; don't heed me. Yonder is the
little town—the road is straight to it. Pray
go, monsieur. I feel nervous about this
calculation."

"But to think of leaving you here,Monsieur
l'Abbé, it is——"

"'Twill escape me. I shall lose this
precious thought," he said, rising up quite
excitedly.

'' I go," I said, a little alarmed, and turned
round towards the town.

It is best not to cross these strange spirits,
and I could tell some one in Petit-Pont; where,
doubtless, his ways were known; and, with
this commendation of him to Providence I left
the poor Abbé to his own shifts, and soon was
at the threshold of the little town,—a sort of
halt for the posts. I first saw a straw-house
or two; then trees; then a stray fellow in his
blue frock driving a cart; then more houses;
fewer trees; all introducing me to the solid,
substantial paving! A narrow street, with
different sized houses of the true French
cream-colour; a street running in twists and
curves. An inscrutable Boulanger or a baker's-
store; general store, also, with the open cask
of rotten pears, all mashed up, at the door, and
a bunch of peg-tops in a net. An old grey-beard,
in a cap and blue frock, leaning over the half-
door; smart women with children in their
arms at half-doors, too, and seen only in Kit-
Kat. Children in wooden shoes clattering
over the pavement; special groups gathered
about the cask of mashed pears; but at
most respectful distances, like dogs round
costermongers' carts. So on, up to the posting-
house, or tavern of the place— the Tête Noire
or Black Head, where was good entertainment
for beast; not so good perhaps for man;
there being over-much tap-room savour to be
inviting. Taproom up-stairs, tap-room down
stairs—to the right and to the left. I shook
my head and sighed, as I stood before it. It
would not do. I saw a buxom young person
over the way, in Kit-Kat, with a child in her
arms. Fancying I could read sympathy in her
blooming face, I crossed to her.

"Dear, yes. O dear, yes. Only a little way
out of the town was the Golden Rose inn,
with a charming view of the country! A
sweet spot monsieur would find it. Just to
go on straight—straight as I could go. And,
by the way, Monsieur will arrive just in time
for a little diversion. For there was to be a
wedding there to night."

"So there is to be a wedding," I said,
laying my hand on the lower half of the door,
"a sprightly wedding! And whose? Yours?"

She shook her head a little dolefully, as I
thought I saw a twitch on her cheek.

"Ah," said I, translating it to myself,
"thy good man is not quite so loving: so full
of the petits soins, as he used to be in those
bright, early days, when the tambour was
drummed, and the pipe played, and the
neighbours gathered, on your wedding-night."

II. THE GOLDEN ROSE.

IT was not likely that a man could very
well miss it; for there it hung above me,
swinging from an ancient tree in the very