In the centre of the shed stood a third figure, a gentleman, tall, thin, young, and dark—if not handsome, at least very good-looking—with an aristocratic air about him which at once caught Fairy’s fancy. She saw at a glance he was unlike anyone she had ever met before, by the cut of his clothes and the dark moustache, in days when moustaches were rarely seen in England; she half suspected he was not English, and his first words, in a strong foreign accent, confirmed this idea. “I want to take it wif me, a horse’s iron, the iron of a horse.” Fairy’s appearance in the shed caused the stranger to turn round, and seeing a lady he took off his hat and bowed so profoundly, at the same time stepping back, and gracefully hinting, by a wave of his hand, that his business would wait till hers was concluded, removed any lingering doubts in her mind as to his nationality. He was French, she was sure, and for the first time in her life, to her knowledge, Fairy found herself face to face with a Frenchman, as great a curiosity then as a Japanese or Chinaman is now. Fairy returned his elaborate bow with a pretty inclination of her graceful head, and briefly stated her business to the veterinary, who, however, seemed to hesitate at first to come at once, and Fairy was obliged to resort to a little judicious flattery to induce him to comply with her request. While she was speaking the stranger had an opportunity of indulging in a good look at her without her being aware of it. How pretty she was! fresher and brighter and prettier than ever among the dark, grimy surroundings of the blacksmith’s shop, which formed a striking background for this brilliant little vision of youth and health and beauty, the red glow of the furnace sending a rosy reflection over her white dress, and kindling the soft golden lights in her hair into a burning auburn. How simply she was dressed too! the first of her countrywomen who understood the art of dressing herself who had yet crossed the stranger’s path, he afterwards told her; and yet her boots and gloves, about which Fairy was very particular, fitted her tiny hands and feet to perfection. Where did she come from, this blooming little creature, who looked as if a puff of wind might blow her away, so small and slight and dainty was she? And in default of wind the young Frenchman was by no means sure that she would not suddenly spread out a pair of wings from among the folds of her white drapery and fly away! At any rate he determined to speak to her first and satisfy himself that she was flesh and blood, and not a mere sprite or vision, so as she turned to leave, after having prevailed upon the veterinary to do her bidding at once, he stepped forward, and, with another grand bow and a smile, he said, in his native tongue— “Mademoiselle peut-elle parler Français?” “Mais oui, monsieur,” answered Fairy. “Pardon mille fois, mademoiselle est Française?” said the Frenchman, with true French politeness.