an aureola about her, and whom I had called Helen since I knew that her beauty was like that of the immortal goddesses. I was alone, deliciously alone, and in love, with no beloved one. I was perfectly happy, and never realised that I was torturing my sister Louise, whose affection I misunderstood. I was free. By reason of the difficulty of procuring provisions our table was the most frugal in the world. We lived upon eggs, potatoes, cheese, and on Sundays had the luxury of a fowl. Grandfather was never tired of extolling the excellencies of this fare, and the benefits of pastoral life. It was easy for me to persuade myself of the excellence of our mode of living. I took less and less interest in the news from town that reached us by the diligence. Once or twice, to give us fuller intelligence, they sent up the farmer himself, so that in our hermitage we knew the number of deaths and the ravages of the pestilence. The Hanged, who was dead, had made a most edifying end, Aunt Deen being with him to the last. Gallus and Merinos were safe and sound. “They are always in luck,” observed grandfather. The farmer shook his head as if to say that the last word hadn’t been said yet, and that the ravages of the epidemic were not over. Of Martinod he knew nothing; he was still in hiding. Our friend Abbé Heurtevant had resisted but he was undermined; however he still had life enough to predict catastrophes. “May we go back?” Louise would ask each time. This astonished grandfather and me, for we were in no hurry. “Not yet, Miss; Master Michael has said like this, that the moment hasn’t come yet.” A lazaretto had been set up for doubtful cases, the two hospitals were crowded, those who went in or out of the city were examined. A series of edicts had been issued by the mayor, ordering the most minute precautions. “It’s awful,” concluded the farmer, who was giving these details. Grandfather declared that we were perfectly comfortable at the Alpette, but Louise was chafing with impatience. Little by little the days grew shorter. After the month of August, which was very warm, September came, with fresher breezes, and September passed. The oaks and birches in the forest were changing colour among the changeless pines, the oaks turning red and the birches golden. The dried tufts of bushes on the rocks took on a scarlet tint. I was sometimes overtaken by the darkness which rose rapidly from the hollow of the valley, and losing my way was forced to seek the aid of a shepherd in some hamlet whose twinkling lights shone out and guided me. At last we were informed that the pestilence was abating, and we might soon leave the Alpette. I heard the news without pleasure, intoxicated with liberty as I had become during my long period of idleness. Still, we were to remain a few days longer. III THE END OF A REING