And the lass punctuated each exclamation with such a hearty outburst of laughter and droll action, that the good little old woman could not refrain from following the example. Whereupon she said: "As true as this is the fiftieth time that we celebrate the anniversary of our settling in the Valley of Charolles, I never saw a girl of a more unalterably happy disposition than yours, my lovely Fulvia." "Fifty years! How awfully long that is, dame Odille. It seems to me I could never live to see fifty years!" "It looks that way at your charming age of sixteen; but to me, Fulvia, these fifty years of peace and happiness have sped like a dream--except, of course, the evil year when I saw Ronan's father die, and lost my first-born son." "Look, dame Odille! There are your consolations, now coming up from the field!" These "consolations" were her husband Ronan himself and his second son Gregory, a man now of mature age who was, in turn, accompanied by his two children, Guenek, a strapping lad of twenty, and Asilyk, a handsome girl of eighteen. Despite his white hair and beard, and despite his seventy-five years, Ronan the Vagre was still quick of motion, vigorous and frolicsome as ever. "Good evening," he called out to his wife as he embraced her; "good evening, little Odille." And after him it was the turn of Gregory and his children to embrace the dame. "Good evening, dear mother." "Good evening, dear grandmother." "Do you hear them?" put in Ronan's wife with that smile that sits so charming on the lips of happy elderly people. "Do you hear them? To these two I am 'grandmother,' and for this one here I am 'Little Odille.'" "Even when you will be a hundred years old, and you will surely reach that age, by the faith of Ronan! I shall always call you 'Little Odille' just as, my little Odille, I shall always call these two friends who are approaching the 'Master of the Hounds' and the 'Bishopess.'" Just then the Master of the Hounds and his wife joined the group where Ronan stood; the heads of both the new arrivals had been whitened with age, but their faces beamed with happiness. "Ho! Ho! How fine you look, my old companion, with your new blouse and embroidered cap! And you, beautiful Bishopess, you are no less gorgeously arrayed!" "Ronan, by the faith of an old Vagre!" said the Master of the Hounds, "I love my Fulvia, in the matron's dress that she now wears, with her brown robe and her coif as white as her hair, as much as I did when she wore her orange skirt, blue sash, gold necklace and silver embroidered red stockings. Do you remember, Ronan? Do you?" "Odille, if my husband and yours begin to talk about olden days, we shall not arrive at the monastery until to-morrow morning. But Loysik is waiting for us. Let us start." "Beautiful and wise Bishopess, we shall hearken unto you," merrily replied Ronan. "Come, Gregory; come, my children; let us start, that will take us all the quicker to my good brother Loysik."