Litchfield enquirer., 1874-03-05

pointment at the rows of gray and red pots, and tiles, and broken bits he had indicated, only yariegated here and there by a small dark porphyry figure. Or one Tn tdpis t0guti. She saw much more to admire On the table, covered with blue ret now pointed out.
 ''But, Monsieur" she asked timidly, 'fwhy do you prize this more than the
 "Mademoiselle, but that is of our day, it has no speciality; it is the age and the rarity which makes this valuable"
 ''I never could like old things so well as new ones, says Eugenie saucily, and she turns away, perfectly unconscious of Monsieur Furet's confusion.
 Do not mind her." whispered Madame Roussel, ''she is young and giddy. Take us to your garden, my passion for flow ers."
 Monsieur bows. and leads the way into the garden.
 Here it IS so bright and full of sum- shine, and the flowers are so full of lovely life and color, that Eugenie feels at her ease again, and smiles and looks happy.
 Monsieur Furet gathers bunch of chi na roses and she thanks him gratefully: he feels younger already in the light of those soft, sweet glances, and his first embarrassment passes away. He talks to Eugenie about the flowers and banters her so playfully about her mistakes,-for she is very ignorant respecting them,- and the girl forgets the dismal tomb-like house and the musty study, and thinks how charming it would be to have this garden for her own.
 Eugenie has great reverence for learn- ing,-her fathers only fault in her eyes is that he never looks at book or a news paper, ,-and as she listens to Monsieur Furet's gentle talk; now the special prop critics of a plant; now the singular cir cumstances which led to its discovery: now some old Norman legend, time goes by and still Eugenie paces mp and down the garden beside her host and listens with interest to his talk. She has not only to listen, he sets himself to draw her out and grows fascinated by her fresh sim plicity; she has quite lost her shyness. Her mother got tired some time ago and sat down on a huge green Chinese pot. just outside the kitchen window. Mon. sieur has forgotten everything but Flu genie, or he would surely summon Mar got to entertain Madame Roussel; he would wonder, too, what had become of the naenGgere, generally all too forward in the presence of visitors; but he is in love with all the fond foolishness of love at ffty-fve, he cannot lose glance of those sweet blue eyes, Q curve of those red smiling lips, and his homage is so earnest, yet so gentle and respectful, that 1t fascinates Eugenie. It is wonderful she thinks that gentleman and scholar like Monsieur Furet should take so much kind trouble to amuse her.
 Monsieur Furet pauses in front of the 'rOcher' and the grove of sycamores.
 "l have pot0ger behind" he says, land beyond that are two fields, so that ! have room for COW and a pony. Will you like to see my cow?"
 eff you please. Monsieur, and then Eugenie feels pang of fconscience, ,-''my mother will be tired, she says, ''I have left her so long alone"
 Monsieur Furet is in fresh delight, here is a new proof of Eugenie's goodness.
 ''Wait moment" he says. 'I will, with Mademoiselle's permission, call my housekeeper Margot, so that Madame Roussel may be no longer alone, and will then return and conduct Mademois- elle to my cow.''
 He bows and leaves her.
 'I shall not wait, there is great fun in exploring strange place all by ones self.' Eugcnie looks around with de- lighted eyes; ''I am only afraid of dog, and Monsieur would have told me if there had been dog"
 She goes quickly through the trees,- they are planted so closely that the path is damp and moss-grown; the kitchen garden, is on the right, but this does not interest her; she passes on through a swing gate, which ends the path, and finds herself suddenly in the field beside the stagnant pool. The forest trees throw long branches across the water, and choke it with @ constant fall of decayed boughs and withered leaves; here and there a gnarled branch lies on the surface, it's twisted, writhing limbs overmastering the scum atop; while the water-weeds strive and fold it in foul embrace.
 Something in the dull, choked water in the weird, lone aspect of the place makes Eugenie pause; then she shudders and turns back to the swing-gate.
 A woman is opening it, and, as she ad- vances toward her, Eugenie recognizes Monsieur Furet's housekeeper. She has never spoken to Marguerite, but she knows her by sight-she has often seen the broad, red face in the doorway of Monsieur Furet. The housekeeper is just now as pale as nature will permit her to be. She mods familiarity at Eugenie, and looks at her till the girls eyes droop beneath the fixed gaze.
 ''Bon jour, Mademoiselle Marguer- ite's face relaxes into a sudden smile. She has changed her tactics; something in the girls face tells her that insolence is not safe weapon.
 "11ens; but why, then, has Mademois- clle left the pretty flowers to look at this cark pond?" Marguerite gives little shiver of fear, and turns away.
 Eugenie looks again at the water, and again the same weird horror chills her.
 ''Why, then," she speaks aloud, but as much to herself as to the housekeeper, "Why does Monsieur Furet keep this black, unwholesomc water so near his house? It should be filled up."
 For an instant Margot's eyes are iend- ish. ''She is mistress already, is she?' she says to herself.
 ''Mademoiselle, the pond cannot be fill. ed up; it has been attempted, but the wa ter wells out again; 1t is like the stain of blood on floor. Ah," she crosses her self, Gas I said to Mademoiselle but now. this is no place for bright young lady"
 She keeps her eyes fixed on the girls scared face, and opens the gate that she may pass through, but the girl draws back
 ''Do you mean that anything has really in that poo1?' Then, as the awful look in Margot's face confirms her own ghastly fear, she cries out in terror:
 ''Some one is drowned there, and you know it! Some one lies there stiIlp'
 Margot is beside her in an instant. She grasps her arm tightly, and lays her broad, brown palm on Eugenie's quivering mouth.
 'Silence! Mademoiselle, if you do not want to ruin me-" Then she takes her hand away and wrings 1t in the other.
 'It IS secret, and Monsieur Furet will not have it known in Veron; but, then, it is not who have told Mademois- it is she herself who has guessed it.
 Eugenie hurries through the gate, and when Margot has followed her, she closes it and draws a deep breath, as if now she