From day to day the house changed its appearance, boxes of flowers concealed the nakedness of the walls; a parterre was laid out before the steps, the walks, cleared of their weeds, were graveled, and muslin curtains, white as the driven snow, glittered in the sun when his rays shone in the windows. Finally, one day a post-chaise passed through the village and stopped before the enclosure of the little house. Who were these strangers? none knew, though every one in the village was longing to ascertain. For a long time nothing was known of what took place within the dwelling, but the roses bloomed and the green grass on the lawn grew. How many conjectures were made on this mystery—they were adventurers who were concealing themselves, perhaps a youth and his mistress; in fine, every thing was guessed but the truth. The truth is so plain that often we do not think of it; for when once the imagination is set to work, it seeks right and left, nor dreams of looking straight forward. As for me, I troubled myself but little about it. What matters it, thought I, who they are, they are human beings who must undergo sickness before long, and then I shall be sent for. I waited patiently. In reality, one morning I was sent word that Mr. William Meredith desired to see me. So I dressed myself with great care, and endeavoring to put on a gravity fitting my station, I passed through the whole village, not a little proud of my importance, and many envied me that day, they even stood at their doors to see me pass, saying, “he is going to the white house;” and I, to all appearance disdaining a vulgar curiosity, walked slowly along, nodding to my neighbors, the peasants, with an “_au revoir_, my friends, I will see you again later on; this morning I have business on hand.” And in this manner I reached the abode there on the hill. When I entered the parlor of this house I was pleased at the sight that presented itself; all was at once plain and elegant. The handsomest ornaments of the house were the flowers, which were so artistically arranged that gold could not have adorned it better. White muslin festooned the windows, and there were white coverings on the arm-chairs, this was all—but there were roses and jessamines, and flowers of every kind, as in a garden. The light was softened by the window curtains, the air was filled with the delicious perfume of flowers, and reclining on a sofa a young girl, or rather a young woman, fair and fresh as all that surrounded her, welcomed me with a smile. A handsome young man, who was seated on a stool near her, rose when Dr. Barnabé was announced. “Sir,” said he, with a strongly marked foreign accent, “your skill is so highly spoken of here that I expected to have seen an old man.” “Sir,” I replied, “I have studied deeply, and am convinced of the importance of my station. You may place reliance in me.”