lightest, and her voice the most cheerful--so that the priest must inevitably have become jealous of her skill, had it not been for divers plates of rich soup, and bottles of cordial, with which she conciliated his favour, and purchased absolution for these and other offences. Baptiste and Jeannette were the best of neighbours. He always rose at the dawn, and after lighting his pipe, sallied forth into the open air, where Jeannette usually made her appearance at the same time; for there was an emulation of long standing between them, which should be the earlier riser. “Bon jour! Mam’selle Jeannette,” was his daily salutation. “Ah! bon jour! Mons. Menou,” was her daily reply. Then as he gradually approximated the little paling which surrounded her door, he hoped Mam’selle was well this morning, and she reiterated the kind inquiry, but with increased emphasis. Then Monsieur enquired after Mam’selle’s pony and Mam’selle’s cow, and her garden, and everything appertaining to her, real, personal and mixed; and she displayed a corresponding interest in all concerns of her kind neighbour. These discussions were mutually beneficial. If Mam’selle’s cattle ailed, or if her pony was guilty of an impropriety, who was so able to advise her as Mons. Baptiste? And if his plants drooped, or his poultry died, who so skilful in such matters as Mam’selle Jeanette? Sometimes Baptiste forgot his pipe in the superior interest of the “tête à tête,” and must needs step in to light it at Jeannette’s fire, which caused the gossips of the village to say that he purposely let his pipe go out, in order that he might himself go in. But he denied this, and, indeed, before offering to enter the dwelling of Mam’selle on such occasions, he usually solicited permission to light his pipe at Jeannette’s sparkling eyes, a compliment at which, although it had been repeated some scores of times, Mam’selle never failed to laugh and curtesy, with great good humour and good breeding.