The ladies came, as we have said, in December, and at the gate the cure met them as usual--making there, as was his custom, a great hesitation as to kissing Lucille, now that she was a demoiselle of the great world, having--the rogue!--shaved with extraordinary care for that very purpose, a few hours earlier. Indeed, it is to be feared that the good cure did not always present so cleanly an appearance as he did on the arrival of the ladies. Here the family lived a quiet life among the peasants, who loved them, and Lucille visited them in their cottages, taking what simple hospitality they could offer her with a charm and appetite unrivalled, as the parishioners themselves have often told the writer. In these humble homes she found children with skins as white, with hair as fair and bright, as her own, and if the traveller wander so far from the beaten track, he can verify my statement. For in Var, by some racial freak--which, like all such matters, is in point of fact inexplicable--a large proportion of the people are of fair or ruddy complexions. Had the Vicomtesse desired it, the neighbourhood offered society of a loftier, and, as some consider, more interesting, nature, but that lady did not hold much by social gatherings, and it was only from a sense of duty that she invited a few friends, about the time of Lucille's birthday--her twenty-first birthday, indeed--to pass some days at La Pauline. These friends were bidden for the 26th December, and among them were the Baron Giraud and his son Alphonse. Alphonse arrived on horseback in a costume which would have done credit to the head-groom of a racing stable. The right-hand twist of his mustache was eminently successful, but the left-hand extremity drooped with a lamentable effect, which he was not able to verify until after he had greeted the ladies, whom he met in the garden, as he rode toward the chateau. "My father," he cried, as he descended from the saddle, "that dear old man, arrives on the instant. He is in a carriage--a close carriage, and he smokes. Picture it to yourselves--when there is this air to breathe--when there are horses to ride. Madame la Vicomtesse"--he took that lady's hand--"what a pleasure! Mademoiselle Lucille--as beautiful as ever." "Even more so," replied Lucille with her gay laugh. "What exquisite riding-boots! But are they not a little tight, Alphonse?" For Lucille could not perceive why playmates should suddenly begin to monsieur and mademoiselle each other after years of intimacy. This was the rock in that path which Alphonse, like the rest of us, found anything but smooth. Lucille was so gay. It is difficult to make serious love to a person who is not even impressed by English riding-boots. [Illustration: "WHAT EXQUISITE RIDING-BOOTS! BUT ARE THEY NOT A LITTLE TIGHT, ALPHONSE?"]