"Really, Bernard, you are as gallant this morning as a court abbe. Do you happen to have been composing a madrigal last night?"

I was peculiarly mortified at this jesting. However, paying her back in her own coin, I answered:

"Yes; I composed one yesterday evening at the chapel window; and if it is a poor thing, cousin, it is your fault."

"Say, rather, that it is the fault of your education," she replied, kindling.

And she was never more beautiful than when her natural pride and spirit were roused.

"My own opinion is that I am being very much over-educated," I answered; "and that if I gave more heed to my natural good sense you would not jeer at me so much."

"Really, it seems to me that you are indulging in a veritable war of wits with Bernard," said M. de la Marche, folding his paper carelessly and approaching us.

"I cry quits with her," I answered, annoyed at this impertinence. "Let her keep her wit for such as you."