"Why do you ask me?" replied La Louve, almost angrily; then taking off her nice warm shawl, she folded it in four, and, kneeling down, placed it on the ground, which was somewhat moist from the extreme shelter afforded by the overhanging trees, saying, as she did so, "Here, put your feet on this." "Oh, but La Louve!" said Fleur-de-Marie, perceiving too late the kind intention of her companion, "I cannot suffer you to spoil your beautiful shawl in that way." "Don't make a fuss about nothing; I tell you the ground is cold and moist. There, that will do." And, taking the tiny feet of Fleur-de-Marie, she forcibly placed them on her shawl. "You spoil me terribly, La Louve." "It is not for your good behaviour, if I do; always trying to oppose me in everything I try to do for your good. Are you not very much tired? We have been walking more than half an hour; I heard twelve o'clock just strike from Asnieres." "I do feel rather weary, but still the walk has done me good." "There now--you were tired, and yet could not tell me so!" "Pray don't scold me; I assure you I was not conscious of my weariness until I spoke. It is so delightful to be able to walk out in the air, after being confined by sickness to your bed, to see the trees, the green fields, and the beautiful country again, when you had given up all hope of ever enjoying that happiness, or of feeling the warm beams of the sun fill you with strength and hope!" "Certainly, you were desperately ill, and for two days we despaired of your life. I don't mind telling you, now the danger is over." "Only imagine, La Louve, that, when I found myself in the water, I could not help thinking of a very bad, wicked woman, who used to torment me when I was young, and frighten me by threatening to throw me to the fishes that they might eat me, and, even after I had grown up, she wanted to drown me; and I kept thinking that it was my destiny to be devoured by fishes, and that it was no use to try and escape from it." "Was that really your last idea when you believed yourself perishing?" "Oh, no!" replied Fleur-de-Marie, with enthusiasm; "when I believed I was dying, my last thought was for him whom I so reverence, and to whom I owe so much, and, when I came to myself after you had saved me, my first thought was of him likewise." "It is a pleasure to render you any service, you think so much of it." "No, La Louve; the pleasure consists in falling asleep with our grateful recollection of kind acts, and remembering them upon waking!" "Ah, you would induce people to go through fire and water to serve you! I'm sure I would, for one." "I can assure you that one of the causes which made me thankful for life was the hope of being able to advance your happiness. Do you recollect the castles in the air we used to build at St. Lazare?" "Oh, as for that, there is time enough to think about that."