Alas! the ingrate! As I retreated he threw down his head, dislodged the trinket, smelt at and swallowed it. The eyes in Carinne’s yet shocked face looked a pale inquiry when I returned to her. “Mademoiselle,” I said, “the honour would appear entirely to his taste.” She nodded seriously. “It is well,” she whispered; “and I hope none will rob him.” “He shall be turned inside out first,” I said stoutly; and at that she nodded again, and bade me to a hurried retreat. We may have walked a mile, or even two, in a solemn silence, before my comrade was fain to stop, in the heart of a woodland glen, and throw herself exhausted on a bank. Then she looked up at me, her fatigued eyes struggling yet with defiance. “Why do you not upbraid me?” she said. “Why do you not say ‘I told you so’?” “Because it does not occur to me.” “Ah! you would make a fine virtue of forbearance; you would be the patient ass to my vanity, would you not, monsieur?” “I would let mademoiselle ride me rough-shod till I fell dead.” “And so leave me the living monument to your nobility. But it is not generous, monsieur, thus to rebuke me with silence.” “I did not intend to----” “And, after all, it was the hog that struck most effectively.” “And that is conceded, mademoiselle; and the hog is generously decorated.” She mused up at me rebelliously. “I do not even know your name.” “It is Citizen Thibaut.” “Citizen----” (she made a wry mouth of it). “Then, if I can find the wherewithal to reward your gallantry, citizen, will you leave me to myself?” “Mademoiselle, if only I could believe none other would impose himself on that sweet duet!” She shrugged her shoulders fretfully. “Monsieur, monsieur, you assume a father’s privilege. Has my misfortune placed me beyond the pale of courtesy? or has a swineherd no title to the considerations of decency?” “Nay, mademoiselle; it is that your beauty and your proud innocence make so many appeals to both.” My obstinacy seemed a goad to her anger. “You exaggerate the importance of your service,” she cried. “Either of those great strong men could have crushed you like an old nut----” She seemed to struggle a moment with herself--without avail. “For you are very little,” she added. I felt myself turn pale. I made her a most profound bow. “I will leave mademoiselle,” I said gravely, “to the only company she can do justice to.” “My own?” she asked. I did not answer, and I turned from her quivering all through. I had gone but a few paces when her voice came after me. “Monsieur, I am dying of hunger!” _Mon Dieu!_ What a speech to grapple at the soul! I hurried hither and thither, plucking her a meal from the earth, from the bushes. My heart bled with a double wound. Presently I stood before her, stern and silent. Her face, hidden in her hands, was averted from me. Suddenly she looked up. “The little pod holds the fattest pea,” she said, and burst into tears. _Petite pluie abat grand vent._