Stephanette left the watchman with a light heart She was just about to quit the esplanade, when she saw, on the last steps of the stairway, the tall figure of Captain Luquin Trinquetaille. With an imperative sign the young girl ordered him to return by the way he had come. The sailor showed an exemplary submission; he stopped, made a right-about, with the quickness and precision of a German grenadier, and gravely descended the steps he had just mounted. Had the meeting been arranged by the lovers? We do not know, but certain it was that Stephanette, preceded by her obedient adorer, descended the narrow, winding flight of steps which conducted to the watchman’s cabin, with the lightness of a gazelle. Many times Luquin turned his head, to catch a sight of the neat ankle and little foot, which cleared the rough rocks so nimbly, but Stephanette, with a threatening gesture, and queen-like dignity, arrested the curiosity of the ex-artilleryman, who was compelled to accelerate his gait in obedience to the oft-repeated words: “Go on, Luquin, go on!” While the lovers are descending the escarpment of the cape of l’Aigle, we will say a few words about Luquin Trinquetaille. He was a robust fellow of thirty years, brown and sunburnt. He had a manly figure, a frank, ingenuous manner, somewhat vain; he wore a costume which marked both the soldier and the sailor,--a military coat, and Provencal breeches, fastened around his waist by the belt which held his broadsword. The air was cold, and over his coat he wore a mantle, the seams of which were braided in red and blue wool; the hood half covered his forehead, and under it could be seen a forest of black curls. When they had reached the foot of the mountain, Stephanette, in spite, of her agility, felt the need of rest. Luquin, delighted with an opportunity for conversation, carefully sought a spot where she could be comfortably seated. When he had found it, he gallantly took off his mantle and spread it out on the rock, so that Stephanette could have a seat with a back; then, crossing his hands on the head of his cane, and leaning his chin on his hands, he contemplated Stephanette with a calm and happy adoration. When she had recovered from the effects of her precipitous descent, Stephanette turned to Luquin, and said, with the air of a spoiled child, and a woman sure of her despotic domination: “Why, Luquin, did you come to the watchman’s cabin for me, when I told you to wait for me at the foot of the mountain?” Luquin, preoccupied with admiration for Stephanette’s fine colour, which the walk had imparted, did not reply. “Did ever anybody see the like?” cried she, with an impatient stamp of her little foot. “Do you hear what I say to you, Luquin?” “No,” said the captain, coming out of his reflective mood; “all that I know is that from Nice to Bayonne, from Bayonne to Calais, from Calais to Hambourg, from Hambourg to--” “Have you finished your European trip, Luquin?”