“Not so fast, _ma chère_!” interposed the count, “we must sup first, for we are famished as the wolves we left behind us in the forest.” And thereupon he called in the steward of the castle, who soon set out a hearty supper on one of the long tables. Elinor sat close by, eagerly chattering as they ate, and the moment Félix had swallowed the last morsel, she seized him by the hand and hastened across the hall, where her crèche was built upon a carved bench. The poor little Lady Elinor had no mother, and her father, the count, had been gone for several days; and although in the castle were many serving men and women and retainers, yet none of these presumed to dictate to the little mistress; and so she had put her crèche together in a very odd fashion. “There!” said she, “what thinkest thou of it, Félix? Of a truth, I fancy somewhat is wanting, yet I know not how to better it!” “Yes,” said Félix, bashfully, “it may be I can help thee.” And so he set to work rearranging the little houses and figures, till he succeeded in giving a life-like air to the crèche, and Lady Elinor danced with delight. While placing the little manger he happened to remember the figure of the Christ Child still in his blouse pocket; this he timidly took out and showed the little girl, who was charmed, and still more so when he drew forth a small wooden sheep and a dog, which were also in the same pocket, and which he begged her to keep. The Lady Elinor was so carried away with joy that she flew to the side of the count, and, grasping both his hands, dragged him across the room to show him the crèche and the wonderful figures carved by Félix. Félix himself was covered with confusion when he saw the count coming, and would gladly have run from the hall, but that was impossible; so he stood still, his eyes averted and his face crimson. “See, _mon père_!” said Elinor, “see this, and this!” And she held up the carvings for the count’s inspection. [Illustration] Count Bernard, who had good-naturedly crossed the room to please his daughter, now opened his eyes wide with surprise. He took the little figures she handed him and examined them closely, for he was a good judge of artistic work of this kind. Then he looked at Félix, and at length he said: “Well, little forest bird, who taught thee the carver’s craft?” “No one, sir,” faltered Félix; “indeed, I wish, above all things, to learn of the Père Videau, the master carver; but my father says I must be a shepherd, as he is.” Here a tear rolled down Félix’s cheek, for he was half frightened and terribly tired. “Well, well,” said the count, “never mind! Thou art weary, little one; we will talk of this more on the morrow. ’Tis high time now that both of you were sound asleep. Hey, there! Jean! Jacques! Come hither and take care of this little lad, and see to it that he hath a soft bed and a feather pillow!”