hioned politeness, and with a slight
fluttering of the voice Mary made him known to the chaplain's wife and
Dick Carleton.

"But we know each other already, Monsieur le Cure and I," exclaimed
Rose, putting out her hand. She explained this to Mary with her bright,
enthusiastic smile. "My husband and I take long walks together. One of
our first was up to Roquebrune; and we went into the church--such a
huge, important church for a little hill town! Monsieur le Cure was
there, and we talked, and he showed us the picture under a curtain. How
I do love pictures under curtains, don't you? They're so beautifully
mysterious. And through a door there was a glimpse of fairyland. I
couldn't believe it was real--I hardly believe so now, though Monsieur
le Cure waved his wand and made us free of the place, as if it were a
'truly' garden. Have you been there yet, Miss Grant?"

"I was just inviting her to come for the first time, to-morrow," said
the cure. "Advise her to accept, Madame, for three o'clock."

"Indeed I do!" Rose smiled from him to Mary.

The cure moved forward, holding out his hand. He made it evident that
this was goodbye. "Will you not take Madame's advice, and my
invitation?" he asked, his good brown eyes warm and gentle.

"Yes!" Mary answered impulsively, laying her hand in his.

He clasped it, looking kindly into her face. "I am very glad. Thank you.
I will meet you in the church," he said; no more; but Mary knew that he
meant, "Thank you for trusting me."

* * * * * * *

"His Highness is out," was the answer at the Hotel de Paris to the
cure's inquiries. No, the Prince had left no word as to when he would
come in. Often he was away for dinner, and sometimes did not return
until late at night.

"Eh bien! I will wait," said the cure with a sigh. He had determined to
carry the thing through, and would not fail for lack of persistence.

Vanno might be in any one of a dozen places, but the cure with his
mind's eye saw the young man at the Casino. There he could not seek him
even if he would, as a man in clerical dress would not be admitted.
Resignedly the priest sat down in a retired corner of the hall, where he
could watch those who came in by the revolving door. That he should be
sitting in this home of gayety and fashion at Monte Carlo appealed to
his sense of humour. "A bull in a china shop," he thought, "is in his
element compared to poor Father Pietro Co