"The eggs! the eggs!" she suddenly exclaimed, with such a look of uneasiness that we all burst out laughing--"hurry with the eggs! The butter is all puffing up! Be quick--or I can't answer for the consequences." The old woman beat the eggs energetically. "The herbs!" cried the old man. "The lard and salt!" cried the young ones. And they all set to work chopping, cutting, piling up, while Louise, stamping with excitement, called out, "Make haste! make haste!" Then there was a tremendous bubbling in the pan, and the great work began. We were all round the fire, gazing with an anxious interest inspired by our all having had a finger in the pie. The old woman, on her knees beside a large dish, slipped a knife under the edge of the omelette, which was turning a fine brown. "Now, madame, you've only got to turn it over," she said. "Just one little quick blow," suggested the old man. "Mustn't be violent," counseled the young one. "All at once; tip with it, dear!" I said. "If you all talk at once--" "Make haste, madame!" "If you all talk at once I never shall manage it. It is too awfully heavy." "One quick little blow." "But I can't; it's going over. Oh gracious!" In the heat of action, her hood had fallen off. Her cheeks were like a peach, her eyes shone, and though she lamented her fate, she burst into peals of laughter. At last by a supreme effort the pan moved, and the omelette rolled over, somewhat heavily, I confess, into the large dish which the old woman was holding. Never did an omelette look better! "I am sure the young lady's arms must be tired," said the old man, as he began cutting a round loaf into enormous slices. "Oh no, not so very," my wife answered with a merry laugh; "only I am crazy to taste my--our omelette." We had seated ourselves round the table. When we had eaten and drunk with the good souls, we rose and made ready to go home. The sun had set, and the whole family came out of the cabin to see us off and say good-night. "Don't you want my son to go with you?" the old woman called after us. It was growing dark and chilly under the trees, and we gradually quickened our pace. "Those are happy people," said Louise. "We will come some morning and breakfast with them,--shan't we? We can put the baby in one of the donkey panniers, and in the other a large pasty and a bottle of wine.--You are not afraid of losing your way, George?" "No, dear; no fear of that." "A pasty and a bottle of wine--What is that?" "Nothing; the stump of a tree." "The stump of a tree--the stump of a tree," she muttered. "Don't you hear something behind us?" "It is only the wind in the leaves, or the breaking of a dead branch."