She gravely led me toward the chateau when it appeared that I was minded to join Cernay. “We mustn’t disturb papa. He doesn’t like any one to talk to him when he is there.” “Very well, let us go.” We installed ourselves upon the low cloister wall, Dilette with her legs swinging, I leaning against a pillar under the pendant sprays of the wild vines whose reddening leaves clambered over the arches. “Now,” she said, “a story, quick!” Rapidly I reviewed in mind my repertory of myths and legends, choosing from it a touching version by Tennyson of an ancient ballad. Do you know it perhaps? If not I must tell it to you too. Try to imitate Dilette and listen very quietly, for it is necessary to follow this story if you would understand what is to come in my book. * * * THE STORY The eyes of the little shepherdess were fastened upon the picture which the poor painter who had lately come to the village was making at the edge of the forest. Upon a square of canvas no bigger than _that_ he had put everything one could see,--or almost everything. How could he do it? It was wonderful! He gave the last stroke of the brush, then turned and looked into her face as if he would like to carry it away with him. She was the prettiest and best girl in all the country-side. “You are beautiful,” he said; “did you know it?” She laughed gaily as if pleased. “The fountain told me so,” she said. “Did it tell you something else?” “What else?” “That you please me?” And he added, softly: “Will you be my wife?” She turned her face away, trembling with happiness, for she loved him secretly. “Yes,” she murmured. They were married in the village church. But before leading her to their home, a little thatched cottage on the edge of the wood, he turned toward the fields: “Let us take a walk, while the sun shines,” he said; “we can go home when evening comes. Shall we go to the great castle, away over there? I have heard wonderful things about it. You have never seen it, have you?” She smiled disdainfully. “I would not exchange our little home for it,” she said. But he asked again: “Don’t you want to see the castle?” “I want whatever you want,” she said. They went beyond the end of the parish and through the gate of a park into a long shady avenue of ancient oaks. Far away at the end of the avenue they could see the castle. Evening was coming on; the branches of the trees leaned kindly over them. The birds were singing, but they heard only their own hearts. As they drew near the castle, the dogs came running out. “I am afraid,” she said. “With me?” But the dogs barked joyfully and licked the young man’s hands. “Why, they know you!” she said. “I have been here sometimes,” he answered. They went up the steps of rose-coloured marble. “We may go in,” he said. “Visitors are allowed.”