"Then, madame," said I to Marie, "I must beg you, in the name of the cherished occupation which we share in common, to ask your aunt to grant me the permission of making some sketches of this farm whose situation I find so charming." "You have no need of asking Marie's aid for that," said Madame Kerouët; "you can make as many sketches as you wish, it can do nobody any harm." I thanked the _fermière_; and, not wishing to make too long a first visit, I mounted my pony and started off. Through caprice, I desired to keep up my _incognito_, which would be easy enough for awhile at least, for the Field Farm was quite a distance from Serval, and the tenants and farm hands from the one place hardly ever came over to the other. The day after my first interview with Marie I furnished myself with the complete outfit of an artist; for since my return to Serval, I, too, had sought distraction in painting, and, mounted on good old Black, I started for the Field Farm. Thanks to my frequent visits, a certain amount of friendliness was established between Marie, her aunt, and myself. As I never saw any M. Belmont, I supposed him to be on a journey, and asked no questions about him. I drew the farm from every point of view, and I gave two or three of the sketches to Madame Kerouët, who was enchanted with them. Very often Marie came out and sketched with me. She had a great deal of talent. Contrary to the habit of most young girls, Marie had profited by the excellent education that is afforded in such establishments as St. Denis. Fond of learning, she had neglected none of her studies, none of the useful or agreeable arts that were taught in that institution; so that, being naturally gifted, she had cultivated her talents to the utmost. To a solid, extended, and varied instruction, she added a real vocation for art. But Marie was quite unconscious of the rarity of such an assemblage of delightful talents. She never showed the least vanity in her superiority, but would often, with a schoolgirl's satisfaction, tell me of her former successes in history, painting, or music, as I had heard other women tell of their triumphs in coquetry. Marie was only eighteen, and had the happy and fanciful imagination of a child. When she was in a confidential mood, I found her to be simple, sweet-tempered, and gay. She possessed that innocent gaiety which is the outcome of a serene soul and a life of intelligent and noble occupation. The more I studied her guileless nature, the more attached to her I became.