This we take from "Les Maitres Sonneurs," or "The Bagpipers," as Miss Wormeley renders the title. Brulette is a charming peasant girl, who, brought up in the same house with Jose, has known him only as a shy, recluse, silent, sullen, even downright stupid boy, if not indeed almost a "natural." He has cultivated music secretly, and he now makes trial of his art for the first time before Brulette. She turns away, and he is in despair, till he sees that she turned away to hide her fast-coming tears. He then demands to know what she thought of while he was playing. Brulette replies, and Jose in his turn expresses his mind: "I did not think of any thing," said Brulette, "but a thousand recollections of old times came into my mind. I seemed not to see you playing, though I heard you clearly enough; you appeared to be no older than when we lived together, and I felt as if you and I were driven by a strong wind, sometimes through the ripe wheat, sometimes into the long grass, at other times upon the running streams; and I saw the fields, the woods, the springs, the flowery meadows, and the birds in the sky among the clouds. I saw, too, in my dream, your mother and my grandfather sitting before the fire, and talking of things I could not understand; and all the while you were in the corner on your knees saying your prayers, and I thought I was asleep in my little bed. Then again I saw the ground covered with snow, and the willows full of larks, and the night full of falling stars; and we looked at each other, sitting on a hillock, while the sheep made their little noise of nibbling the grass. In short I dreamed so many things that they are all jumbled up in my head; and if they made me cry it was not for grief, but because my mind was shaken in a way I can't at all explain to you." "It is all right," said Jose. "What I saw and what I dreamed as I played, you saw too! Thank you, Brulette; through you I know now that I am not crazy, and that there is a truth in what we hear within us, as there is in what we see. Yes, yes," he said, taking long strides up and down the room, and holding his flute above his head, "it speaks!--that miserable bit of reed! It says what we think; it shows what we see; it tells a tale as if with words; it loves like the heart; it lives; it has a being! And now, Jose, the mad man; Jose, the idiot; Jose, the starer, go back to your imbecility; you can afford to do so, for you are as powerful, and as wise, and as happy as others." So saying, he sat down and paid no further attention to any thing about him. Little speeches like the foregoing make up what, throughout the whole story of "The Bagpipers" does duty for dialogue between the characters. Charming, but in no proper sense of the word natural or verisimilar.