woman has the soul of a savage; we have not one thought in common."

The father burst into a loud laugh. "A pretty savage to look at,
anyhow; a well-polished one in the bargain, ho, ho, ho! Well, well, I
must make up my mind, I suppose, that my eldest son is a lunatic in
love with a savage."

Adrian remained silent for a while, toying with his glass, his young
brow contracted under a painful frown. At length, checking a sigh, he
answered with deliberation:

"Since it is so palpable to others, I suppose it must be love, as you
say. I had thought hitherto that love of which people talk so much was
a feeling of sweetness. What I feel in this lady's presence is much
more kin to anguish; for all that, as you have noticed, I appear to
live only when she is nigh."

The father looked at his son and gaped. The latter went on, after
another pause:

"I suppose it is so, and may as well own it to myself and to you,
though nothing can come of it, good or bad. She is married, and she is
your guest; and even if any thought concerning me could enter her
heart, the merest show of love on my part would be an insult to her
and treason to you. But trust me, I shall now be on my guard, since my
behaviour has already appeared strange."

"Tut, tut," said the Baronet, turning to his wine in some dudgeon, his
rubicund face clouding as he looked with disfavour at this strange
heir of his, who could not even fall in love like the rest of his
race. "What are you talking about? Come, get out of that and see what
the little lady's about, and let me hear no more of this. She'll not
compromise herself with a zany like you, anyhow, that I'll warrant."

But Adrian with all the earnestness of his nature and his very young
fears was strenuously resolved to watch himself narrowly in his
intercourse with his too fascinating relative; little recking how
infinitesimal is the power of a man's free-will upon the conduct of
his life.

The next morning found the little Countess in the highest spirits.
Particularly good news had arrived from her land with the early
courier. True, the news were more than ten days old, but she had that
insuperable buoyancy of hopefulness which attends active and healthy
natures.

The Breton peasants (she explained to the company round the breakfast
table), headed by their lords (among whom was her own _Seigneur et
Maitre_) had again crushed the swarms of ragged brigands that called
themselves soldiers. From all account