slipped from her lap to the ground; her white hands, blue-veined, were joined as if for prayer; and her charming head was bent upon her bosom. Who could say where her thoughts were wandering at this moment? Perhaps she thought in an innocent dream, still listening to the tender songs of Reinhold and Frederick; or perhaps she liked better to see handsome Conrad, kneeling and asking, with so ardent a look, so caressing a voice, the price of the victories he had gained in yesterday's games. Now the lips of the young girl murmured some notes of a song, then they allowed to escape, by syllables obscured by a half slumber—"Do you wish for my bouquet?" At this time a practised eye would have surprised on her cheeks a reflection rosier than ordinary. Beneath her eyelids, nearly closed, he would have seen a rapid glance make her dark lashes tremble; he would have guessed the secret of the sigh that swelled her slender waist. But just then dame Martha, the widow of Valentine, entered the little chamber, and Rosa, suddenly awaking to her remembrance, took the occasion to relate to her, with all its details, the feast of Saint Catherine, and the evening's walk in the flowery field. When she had finished this important recital, dame Martha said to her, smilingly—"I hope that you are happy, my dear Rosa; here are three fine gallants, from among whom you are free to choose."
"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed the young girl, blushing in her fright—"for heaven's sake, what do you tell me?—I, three gallants!"
"And why not?" replied Martha; "is it with me that it is necessary to make a mystery concerning a thing that is apparent to the eyes of every body? Do you think that it is not well known, at present, that the three journeymen of master Martin have conceived a violent passion for you?"
"Oh, what do you tell me!" interrupted Rosa, hiding her face in her hands, whilst the tears came into her eyes.
"Come, my dear child," replied Martha, drawing Rosa towards her; "come, my good Rosa, do not hide the truth
