We would play happily in the garden until supper-time and even the grown folks joined us in some of our games. Sometimes father would gather all of us children around him, and we would never tire of hearing the stories of his adventures when, as a young man, he had gone far beyond the boundaries of France. These wonderful stories seemed so strange to us as we looked upon our father's sad and severe countenance; but our uncles August and Edward informed us that at one time he was the happiest and gayest of them all. After supper came the problem of housing us all. The boys always slept in the hay barn. "A good preparation," said Uncle August, "for their future training in the army." The rest of us found resting-places somehow here and there in the great house. On the following day we would gather at breakfast, and then the men folks would be off again to their various tasks in the big towns. After a good time in the garden in the morning, the two carriages to Paris and Havre would be loaded up again, and we would take the train once more, generally leaving Catalina to pass an additional week in the invigorating air of "Las Lilas." This short visit in the country was the great event of the year in my young life. I talked about it six months beforehand and for six months afterward. The other scholars made fun of me in school, and dubbed me "Las Lilas" because I talked so much about my grandfather's home in the country. But Paula was a most sympathetic listener. She never tired of hearing me repeat over and over our experiences at "Las Lilas." It must be confessed that I exaggerated in describing many things about my grandfather's place, until my country cousin came to believe that my grandfather's house was a palace and that the garden was a veritable Eden. "You shall see, you shall see!" I exclaimed as I ended my description. The cow appeared to be the most interesting thing to Paula. "If your grandfather has a cow, it must be that he really lives in the country," she said. "Of course he lives in the country," I said, "it is so beautiful there. But don't you think that we also are living in the country here in 'The Convent'?" Paula laughed heartily at this but made no further comment. At last the annual letter of invitation arrived. I recognized it on account of the beautiful handwriting of my grandmother. "It is for next Saturday," announced my father, "and we are all invited to stay until Monday. And now listen, Paula, this concerns you. Grandmother writes, 'It would delight me very much to embrace our new little relative. I hope that from now on she will keep a warm place in her heart for her old grandmother who loves her without having ever met her.'"