the coils of her brown hair, the pale, olive tint of her oval
cheek, the delicate, swelling nostril of her straight, clear-cut nose;
he could even smell the lily she carried in her little hand. Then,
suddenly, she lifted her long lashes, and her large gray eyes met his.

Alas! the same look of vacant horror came into her eyes, and fixed
and dilated their clear pupils. But she uttered no outcry,--there was
something in her blood that checked it; something that even gave a
dignity to her recoiling figure, and made Dick flush with admiration.
She put her hand to her side, as if the shock of the exertion of her
ascent had set her heart to beating, but she did not faint. Then her
fixed look gave way to one of infinite sadness, pity, and pathetic
appeal. Her lips were parted; they seemed to be moving, apparently in
prayer. At last her voice came, wonderingly, timidly, tenderly: "Mon
Dieu! c'est donc vous? Ici? C'est vous que Marie a crue voir! Que
venez-vous faire ici, Armand de Fontonelles? Repondez!"

Alas, not a word was comprehensible to Dick; nor could he think of
a word to say in reply. He made an uncouth, half-irritated,
half-despairing gesture towards the wood he had quitted, as if to
indicate his helpless horse, but he knew it was meaningless to the
frightened yet exalted girl before him. Her little hand crept to her
breast and clutched a rosary within the folds of her dress, as her soft
voice again arose, low but appealingly:

"Vous souffrez! Ah, mon Dieu! Peuton vous secourir? Moi-meme--mes
prieres pourraient elles interceder pour vous? Je supplierai le ciel de
prendre en pitie l'ame de mon ancetre. Monsieur le Cure est la,--je lui
parlerai. Lui et ma mere vous viendront en aide."

She clasped her hands appealingly before him.

Dick stood bewildered, hopeless, mystified; he had not understood a
word; he could not say a word. For an instant he had a wild idea of
seizing her hand and leading her to his helpless horse, and then came
what he believed was his salvation,--a sudden flash of recollection that
he had seen the word he wanted, the one word that would explain all, in
a placarded notice at the Cirque of a bracelet that had been LOST,--yes,
the single word "PERDU." He made a step towards her, and in a voice
almost as faint as her own, stammered, "PERDU!"

With a little cry, that was more like a sigh than an outcry, the girl's
arms fell to her side; she took a step backwards, reeled, and fainted
away.

Di