Matilda got on better, because little Bernard Du Guesclin, as she named her mouse, was so very small, that she could take him up, and turn him round bodily, when other means failed, or pull him half into the chair if danger threatened in front. He was a sprightly little fellow, and had not yet lost all the ardour of youth, or developed the fiendish obstinacy of his kind; so he frequently ran little races--now and then pranced, and was not quite dead to the emotion of gratitude in return for bits of bread. Truly, yes; the fair Mat with her five feet seven inches, and little Bernard, whose longest ear, when most erect, did not reach much above her waist, were a sweet pair of friends, and caused her mates great amusement. 'I must have some one to play with, for I can't improve my mind _all_ the time as 'Mandy does, or cuddle and doze like Livy. I've had experience with young donkeys of all sorts, and I give you my word little Bernie is much better fun than some I've known with shorter ears and fewer legs.' Thus Matilda, regardless of the jeers of her friends, when they proposed having the small beast into the _salon_ to beguile the tedium of a rainy day. As the summer came on, picnics were introduced, and gay parties would pile into and on to Flabeau's small omnibus, and drive off to Hunandaye, Coetquen, La Belliere, Guingamp, or some other unpronounceable but most charming spot, for a day of sunshine and merrymaking. The hospitable English came out strong on these occasions, with ''ampers of 'am-sandwiches, bottled porter and so on, don't you know?' all in fine style. Even the stout doctor donned his knickerbockers and grey hose, unfurled his Japanese umbrella, and, with a pretty niece on either arm, disported himself like a boy. But pleasantest of all were the daily strolls through the little town and its environs, getting glimpses of Breton manners and customs.