and children arriving cold and wet and draggled, but determined to see everything.  She showed me one woman from Chezy, the next village (some distance off, as our part of the country is very scantily populated; it is all great farms and forests; one can go miles without seeing a trace of habitation).  She had arrived quite early with two children, a boy and a girl of seven and eight, and a small baby in her arms; and when Madame Isidore remonstrated, saying the fete was for her school only, not for the entire country-side, the woman answered that Madame always smiled and spoke so nicely to her when she passed on horseback that she was sure she would want her to come.  The French peasants love to be spoken to, always answer civilly, and are interested in the horses, or the donkey, or the children—­anything that passes.

[Illustration:  They were all streaming up the slippery hillside.]

We couldn’t loiter, as the bell was tolling, the children already at the church, and some one rushed down to say that “M. le Cure attendait ces dames pour commencer son office.”  There was quite a crowd on the little “place,” everybody waiting for us to come in.  We let the children troop in first, sitting on benches on one side.  In front of the altar there were rows of chairs for the “quality.”  The Sisters and their girls sat close up to the harmonium, and on a table near, covered with a pretty white linen cloth trimmed with fine old lace (part of the church property), was the Enfant Jesus in his cradle.  This was to be a great surprise to me.  When it was decided that the Sisters should come to the fete with some of the bigger girls, and bring the Enfant Jesus, they thought there must be a new dress for the “babe,” so every child subscribed a sou, and the dress was made by the couturiere of La Ferte.  It was a surprise, for the Enfant Jesus was attired in a pink satin garment with the high puffed fashionable sleeves we were all wearing!  However, I concealed my feelings, the good Sisters were so naively pleased.  I could only hope the children would think the sleeves were wings.

As soon as the party from the chateau was seated, every one crowded in, and there were not seats enough, nor room enough in the little church; so the big doors remained open (it was fairly warm with the lights and the people), and there were nearly as many people outside as in.  The three keepers (Garde de Borny and our two) looked very imposing.  They are all big men, and their belts and gun-barrels bright and shining.  They stood at the doors to keep order.  The Mayor, too, was there, in a black coat and white cravat, but he came up to the top of the church and sat in the same row with me.  He didn’t have on his tricoloured scarf, so I suppose he doesn’t possess one.