“I am delighted, my young friend,” said the Pasteur, beaming at him through the blue spectacles, “to find someone who agrees with me. Personally, although you might not believe it, I love the chase with ardour; when I was young I have shot as many as twenty-five—no—twenty-seven blackbirds and thrushes in one day, to say nothing of thirty-one larks, and some other small game. Also, once I wounded a chamois, which a bold hunter with me killed. It was a glorious moment. But now, for the reasons that you mention, I have given up all this sport, which formerly to me was so great an excitement and relaxation. Yet I admit that I still fish. Only last year I caught a large hatful of perch and dace, of which I persuaded Madame to cook some that Juliette would not eat and gave to the cat. Once, too, there was a big trout in the Lake Lucerne. He broke my line, but, my boy, we will go to fish for that trout. No doubt he is still there, for though I was then young, these fishy creatures live for many years, and to catch him would be a glory.” After Godfrey had given up his fox-shooting, not because in itself it is a terrible crime, like fishing for salmon with herring roe, but for reasons which most of his countrymen would consider effeminate and absurd, he took to making expeditions, still in company with Juliette, for Madame stretched Continental conventions in his case, in search of certain rare flowers which grew upon the lower slopes of these Alps. In connection with one of these flowers an incident occurred, rather absurd in itself, but which was not without effect upon his fortunes. The search for a certain floral treasure was long and arduous. “If only I could find that lovely white bloom,” exclaimed Juliette in exasperation at the close of a weary hour of climbing, “why, I would kiss it.” “So would I,” said Godfrey, mopping himself with a pocket handkerchief, for the sun was hot, “and with pleasure.” “Hidden flower,” invoked Juliette with appropriate heroic gestures, “white, secret, maiden flower, hear us! Discover thyself, O shrinking flower, and thou shalt be kissed by the one that first finds thee.” “I don’t know that the flower would care for that,” remarked Godfrey, as they renewed their quest. At length behind a jutting mass of rock, in a miniature valley, not more than a few yards wide that was backed by other rocks, this flower was found. Godfrey and Juliette, passing round either side of the black, projecting mass to the opening of the toy vale beyond, discovered it simultaneously. There it stood, one lovely, lily-like bloom growing alone, virginal, perfect. With a cry of delight they sprang at it, and plucked it from its root, both of them grasping the tall stem. “I saw it first, and I will kiss it!” cried Juliette, “in token of possession.” “No,” said Godfrey, “I did, and I will. I want that flower for my collection.” “So do I, for mine,” answered Juliette.