‘You shall,’ answered the lady; ‘I will accompany you. I like to walk out, but I go veiled. I frighten children sometimes, and even horses are afraid of me. Yes; we will go together, and I shall see your papa! Ah! I long to see your papa! You are Gabrielle, and my cat is Gabriel. Both were quite white, till I dyed my angel yellow, and I want to dye your white clothes, and then you will be both just alike. Who knows, when I see your papa, perhaps we may be alike!’ The strange woman went into her bedroom to dress for going out; presently she came from it, bearing some black garments. ‘You should have waited,’ said she to Gabrielle; ‘after the Bastille comes the grave. I was going to make the grave for puss, and then you pulled my tower down.’ When ready for the walk, Madame Berthier parted with many expressions of tenderness from the yellow cat. It was some time before she could resolve on going, for she stood in the door wafting kisses to her ‘angel Gabriel,’ and apologising to him with profuse expression of regret for her absence. ‘But we shall return soon, my Gabriel! do not waste your precious affections in weeping for my absence. Soon, soon! And now, adieu! come on, my Gabrielle.’ The walk was pleasant, and Madame Berthier enjoyed it. She insisted on picking yellow and blue flowers as they went along, and showing them to her companion. ‘See!’ she would say; ‘the colours harmonise.’ The plantation of pines was soon passed, and then their road traversed beech copse. The leaves were beginning to turn, for the drought had affected the trees like an early frost. Among the beech were hazels, laden with nuts, hardly ripe; fern and fox-gloves grew rank on the road-side. The day was warm, the air languid, being charged with moisture that rose from the heated and wet earth, so that a haze veiled the landscape. The flies were troublesome, following Madame Berthier and Gabrielle in swarms. A squirrel darted across the path and disappeared up one of the trees. ‘Oh!’ cried Madame Berthier; ‘if Gabriel had only been here. How he would have run, how he would have pounced upon that red creature! Gabriel is so nimble.’ ‘Ah, madame!’ exclaimed the girl, as they came within sight of the valley and the Island of Swallows, ‘my poor father has lost his corn.’ ‘What is the matter?’ ‘See! the water has been out, and it has flooded our field in which the wheat was standing uncarried.’ ‘Alas! the pretty yellow corn,’ said Madame Berthier, ‘your father must buy some more.’ ‘He has no money.’ ‘Yes, child, he has; did not the beast give him your wage? Ah! I forgot, and he returned it.’ They crossed the little foot-bridge. Gabrielle stood still, with her hand on her heart, and looked round. ‘I do not see him,’ she said, anxiously. ‘Oh, the papa is indoors, doubtless.’ They reached the front of the cottage.