"So be it!" she said, breaking off a little twig of my flowers, which she fastened with a pin to her head. "We are here in the Chassin, Tiennet; if we were in your part of the country I should be more careful, for fear of getting you into trouble with some compatriot." "You can get me into trouble with all of them, Thérence," I said; "I ask nothing better." "As for that," she replied, "you go too fast. I don't know you well enough, Tiennet, to say if it would be well for either of us." Then changing the subject with that forgetfulness of herself which came so naturally to her, she said to Brulette: "It is your turn, darling; what return are you going to make for your two May bunches? which of them is to deck your cap?" "Neither, till I know where they came from," replied my prudent cousin. "Tell me, Huriel, and keep me from making a mistake." "I can't tell you," said Huriel, "except that this is mine." "Then I shall carry it whole," she said, taking it down, "and as to that bunch of water-flowers, they must feel very much out of place on a door. I think they will be happier in the moat." So saying, she adorned her cap and the front of her dress with Huriel's flowers, and took the rest into her room; then, returning, she was about to throw the lilies into the old moat which separated the courtyard from the park, when Huriel, unwilling that such an insult should be offered to his rival, stopped her hand. At this moment the sound of a bagpipe came from the shrubbery which closed the little court in front of us, and some one, who had been near enough to hear every word that had passed, played Père Bastien's air of the "Three Woodsmen." He played it first as we knew it, next a little differently, in a softer and sadder way, then changing it throughout, varying the keys, adding music of his own, which was not less beautiful, and even seemed to sigh and to entreat in so tender a manner that we who heard it could hardly help being touched with compassion. At last the player took a stronger and louder tone,--as though it were a song of reproach and authority, and Brulette, who had gone to the edge of the moat intending to ding away the lilies, drew back as if terrified by the anger which was expressed in the sounds. Then Joseph, shoving aside the bushes with his feet and shoulders, appeared on the other side of the moat, still piping, his eyes blazing, and seeming, both by his looks and by his music, to threaten Brulette with some great disaster if she did not desist from the insult she was about to offer him. TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING. "Noble music and a fine player," cried Père Bastien, clapping his hands when the sounds ceased. "That is both good and beautiful, Joseph; it is easy to console yourself for everything when you have the ball at your feet in that way. Come over here, and let us compliment you."