ily was stationed
at the edge of the olive wood with his little victoria. The weather had
changed since morning. The mistral had begun to blow, and Jacques had
found little to do, for people were keeping indoors. When Mary started,
with one trunk on the front of the little cab, the world was very
different from the happy blue and gold world of the morning. Had she
been on foot, the gale sweeping down from Provence would have blown her
like a rag from the path; and the small but sturdy horse seemed to lean
on a wall of wind as he trotted toward Monte Carlo.

Mary had resolved to beg Rose Winter for a night's shelter. She believed
it might be possible, without betraying the secret, to tell Rose that
something disturbing had happened which had decided her to leave Prince
Della Robbia's house. She felt sure of advice and welcome from the
Winters, and she thought it probable that they would ask her to stop
longer than the night; but she made up her mind in advance not to accept
such an invitation. People who knew that she was visiting Princess Della
Robbia would talk if they saw her in Monte Carlo, especially while Vanno
was away. There had been more than enough gossip already. When she
started for Monte Carlo she had no idea where to go after leaving Rose,
as she determined to do next day; but it was as if a voice came to her
on the wind, saying: "Why not stay at the Chateau Lontana?"

Mary caught at the suggestion. She had felt vaguely guilty in deciding
that she could not grant Hannaford's wish, and live in his villa. It had
seemed impossible to be happy there. She had thought that tragic
memories would haunt the house and echo through the rooms, though
strangers who knew nothing of Hannaford's story might find it a pleasant
place. But now she was not asking or expecting happiness for the
present. She wanted a refuge, where she might think and wait quietly,
out of gossip's way--a place whence she could write Vanno: "When you
come you will find me here."

As she said these words in her mind they took a different form. "_If_
you come," she began; then stopped hastily and changed the "if" to
"when." Vanno would come. She had done nothing because of which she
deserved to lose him, and she would not lose him. Somehow, everything
must be made to come right. She would think of a way.

In front of the big, balconied building where the Winters lived Jacques
stopped and put Mary's small trunk and dressing-bag inside the door,
w