ouen, and will come when I
telegraph. My father is in Touraine, and greets you affectionately; he
hopes to come. They are both perfectly happy. My husband is travelling.'

Beauchamp was conscious of some bitter taste; unaware of what it was,
though it led him to say, undesigningly: 'How very handsome that M.
d'Henriel is!--if I have his name correctly.'

Renee answered: 'He has the misfortune to be considered the handsomest
young man in France.'

'He has an Italian look.'

'His mother was Provencale.'

She put her horse in motion, saying: 'I agree with you that handsome men
are rarities. And, by the way, they do not set our world on fire quite
as much as beautiful women do yours, my friend. Acknowledge so much in
our favour.'

He assented indefinitely. He could have wished himself away canvassing
in Bevisham. He had only to imagine himself away from her, to feel the
flood of joy in being with her.

'Your husband is travelling?'

'It is his pleasure.'

Could she have intended to say that this was good news to give of him as
well as of the happiness of her father and brother?

'Now look on Tourdestelle,' said Renee. 'You will avow that for an
active man to be condemned to seek repose in so dull a place, after
the fatigues of the season in Paris, it is considerably worse than for
women, so I am here to dispense the hospitalities. The right wing of the
chateau, on your left, is new. The side abutting the river is inhabited
by Dame Philiberte, whom her husband imprisoned for attempting to take
her pleasure in travel. I hear upon authority that she dresses in white,
and wears a black crucifix. She is many centuries old, and still she
lives to remind people that she married a Rouaillout. Do you not think
she should have come to me to welcome me? She never has; and possibly
of ladies who are disembodied we may say that they know best. For me,
I desire the interview--and I am a coward: I need not state it.' She
ceased; presently continuing: 'The other inhabitants are my sister,
Agnes d'Auffray, wife of a general officer serving in Afric--my sister
by marriage, and my friend; the baronne d'Orbec, a relation by marriage;
M. d'Orbec, her son, a guest, and a sportsman; M. Livret, an erudite. No
young ladies: I can bear much, but not their presence; girls are odious
to me. I knew one in Venice.'

They came within the rays of the lamp hanging above the unpretending
entrance to the chateau. Renee's broad grey Longueville