Then, with a sudden movement, he stooped over, and, seizing Beppo in both arms, hugged and squeezed him till poor Beppo squeaked with surprise, and opened his red mouth and gasped for breath. But Félix only hugged him the harder, murmuring under his breath, “Bless thy little heart, Beppo! Bless thy little heart!” For in a vague way he realized that the truant lamb had somehow brought him his heart’s desire, and that was quite enough Christmas happiness for one year. And the little Lady Elinor was right, too. Years after, when Félix grew to be a man, he did, in very truth, become a “famous carver,” as she had declared. Far surpassing his first master, the Père Videau, he traveled and worked in many cities; yet never, through all his long life, did he forget that Christmas Eve in the little village of Sur Varne. Those who knew him best said that among his dearest treasures he always kept a beautifully carved little box, and in it a bit of faded crimson ribbon from the looms of Lyons. While, as for Beppo—well, if ever some happy day you chance to visit the lovely land of Provence, perhaps you will see a certain grand old cathedral in the ancient city of Arles; and, if you do, look sharp at the figure of a lamb chiseled in white stone over the great portal. Look well, I say, for Félix, when he carved it, would have told you that he was thinking all the while of Beppo. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: —Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Troubadour Tales, by Evaleen Stein