before, to let the horse go its own way, and he accordingly did so. The horse followed the walls of the park at a quick trot, carefully choosing the soft edge of the road, and not uttering a single neigh; the intelligent animal seemed as if it knew that it must make no sound or at least as little sound as possible. In this way, they went along the whole of one side of the park, and on reaching the corner, the horse turned as the wall turned, and stopped before a small breach in the same. “It’s through here, evidently,” said Thibault, “that we have to go.” The horse answered by sniffing at the breach, and scraping the ground with its foot; Thibault gave the animal the rein, and it managed to climb up and through the breach, over the loose stones which rolled away beneath its hoof. Horse and rider were now within the park. One of the three difficulties had been successfully overcome: Thibault had got in by the _way he knew_; it now remained to find the person _whom he knew_, and he thought it wisest to leave this also to his horse. The horse went on for another five minutes, and then stopped at a short distance from the Castle, before the door of one of those little huts of rough logs and bark and clay, which are built up in parks, as painters introduce buildings into their landscapes, solely for the sake of ornament. On hearing the horse’s hoofs, someone partly opened the door, and the horse stopped in front of it. A pretty girl came out, and asked in a low voice, “Is it you, Monsieur Raoul?” “Yes, my child, it is I,” answered Thibault, dismounting. “Madame was terribly afraid that drunken fool of a Champagne might not have given you the letter.” “She need not have been afraid; Champagne brought it me with the most exemplary punctuality.” “Leave your horse then and come.” “But who will look after it?” “Why Cramoisi, of course, the man who always does.” “Ah, yes, to be sure,” said Thibault, as if these details were familiar to him, “Cramoisi will look after it.” “Come, come,” said the maid, “we must make haste or Madame will complain again that we loiter in the corridors.” And as she spoke these words, which recalled a phrase in the letter which had been written to Raoul, she laughed, and showed a row of pearly white teeth, and Thibault felt that he should like to loiter in the park, before waiting to get into the corridors. Then the maid suddenly stood still a moment with her head bent, listening. “What is it?” asked Thibault. “I thought I heard the sound of a branch creaking under somebody’s foot.” “Very likely,” said Thibault, “no doubt Cramoisi’s foot.” “All the more reason that you should be careful what you do ... at all events out here.” “I don’t understand.” “Do you not know that Cramoisi is the man I am engaged to?” “Ah! to be sure! But when I am alone with you, my dear Rose, I always forget that.” “I am called Rose now, am I! I never knew such a forgetful man as you are, Monsieur Raoul.”