18 GOLDEN DAYS 



say of Yvonne ? She who heaped fresh 

 branches on the fire, and stood, white- 

 coifFed, by the hearthstone smihng ; I do 

 not even know if she was the daughter of 

 the miller, or simply the maid of the mill. 

 She remains an unknown divinity, bronzed, 

 tall, full-girdled, and very beautiful. Per- 

 haps her figure was a trifle ample, and her 

 arms a little red and over-developed, but 

 her eyes were of the deep seas. Under 

 level brows she regarded us impartially, 

 and ever that inimitable smile of mystery 

 on her lips. Her mouth was made to 

 kiss little children, and its subtle curve 

 might drive men mad. Indeed, the 

 Greffier burst into poetry, surpassing him- 

 self in a running fire of gallantry, but the 

 goddess only dimpled benignly, and bore 

 him a live brand from off her altar where- 

 with to light his pipe. What must her 

 voice have been with that deep breast and 

 full column of a throat ? We never 

 heard it, and only St. Herbot knows if she 

 was wise or simply very stupid. 



But Monsieur le Maire was talking. 

 His polite French indicated that in plain 

 English my victim of the fly was a beastly 



