“Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather.”      

       The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens gave his little horse her head.     

       “What a capital fellow Jean is!” said Paul.     

       “Oh, yes, indeed!”      

       “There is no one on earth better than Jean.”      

       “No, no one.”      

       The Cure turned round to take another look at Jean, who was almost lost in the depths of the forest.     

       “Oh, yes, there is you, Monsieur le Cure.”      

       “No, not me! not me!”      

       “Well, Monsieur l’Abbe, shall I tell you what I think? I think there is no one better than you two—you and Jean. That is the truth, if I must tell you. Oh! what a splendid place for a trot! I shall let Niniche go; I call her Niniche.”      

       With the point of his whip Paul caressed the flank of Niniche, who started off at full speed, and Paul, delighted, cried:     

       “Just look at her action, Monsieur l’Abbe! just look at her action! So regular—just like clockwork. Lean over and look.”      

       To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe Constantin did lean over and look at Niniche’s action, but the old priest’s thoughts were far away.     

  

       CHAPTER II. THE NEW CHATELAINE     

       This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called Jean Reynaud. He was the son of a country doctor who slept in the churchyard of Longueval.     

       In 1846, when the Abbe’ Constantin took possession of his little living, the grandfather of Jean was residing in a pleasant cottage on the road to Souvigny, between the picturesque old castles of Longueval and Lavardens.     

       Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was finishing his medical studies in Paris. He possessed great industry, and an elevation of sentiment and mind extremely rare. He passed his 

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