“This,” she explained, “is my own invention. My father is a little weak in the head, but he understands a good many things, although he can not talk about them. He used to get weary of sitting still all day in his chair, so I lined the screens with these pictures in order that he might have something to amuse him. He is as pleased as a child with the bright colors, and I explain the subjects to him. I don’t tell him much at a time, for fear of fatiguing him. We have got now to Pyramus and Thisbe, so that we shall have plenty to occupy us before we reach the end.” She caught a pitying look from her guest which seemed to say: “The poor man may not last long enough to reach the end.” Doubtless she had the same fear, for her dark eyes suddenly glistened, she sighed, and remained for some moments without speaking. In the mean time the magpie, which Julien had seen the day before, was hopping around its mistress, like a familiar spirit; it even had the audacity to peck at her hair and then fly away, repeating, in its cracked voice: “Reine, queen of the woods!” “Why ‘queen of the woods?”’ asked Julien, coloring. “Ah!” replied the young girl, “it is a nickname which the people around here give me, because I am so fond of the trees. I spend all the time I can in our woods, as much as I can spare from the work of the farm. “Margot has often heard my father call me by that name; she remembers it, and is always repeating it.” “Do you like living in this wild country?” “Very much. I was born here, and I like it.” “But you have not always lived here?” “No; my mother, who had lived in the city, placed me at school in her own country, in Dijon. I received there the education of a young lady, though there is not much to show for it now. I stayed there six years; then my mother died, my father fell ill, and I came home.” “And did you not suffer from so sudden a change?” “Not at all. You see I am really by nature a country girl. I wish you might not have more trouble than I had, in getting accustomed to your new way of living, in the chateau at Vivey. But,” she added, going toward the fire, “I think they are harnessing the horse, and you must be hungry. Your driver has already primed himself with some toast and white wine. I will not offer you the same kind of breakfast. I will get you some coffee and cream.” He bent his head in acquiescence, and she brought him the coffee herself, helping him to milk and toasted bread. He drank rapidly the contents of the cup, nibbled at a slice of toast, and then, turning to his hostess, said, with a certain degree of embarrassment: