ation by the
old king to her husband's rank of Royal Highness. He knew of that
swift series of improbable deaths which had culminated in her
husband's accession to the throne, and how she had been crowned
Queen-Consort. And then he knew that three or four years afterwards
she had sued for and obtained a Bull of Separation from the Pope, on
the plea of her husband's infidelity and cruelty. The infidelity, to
be sure, was no more than, as a Royalty, if not as a woman, she might
have bargained for and borne with; but everybody remembers the stories
of the king's drunken violence that got bruited about at the time.
Everybody will remember, too, how, the Papal Separation once
pronounced, he had retaliated upon her with a decree of absolute
divorce, and a sentence of perpetual banishment, voted by his own
parliament. Whither she had betaken herself after these troubles Paul
had never heard--until, yesterday, arriving at Saint-Graal, they told
him she was living cloistered like a nun at Granjolaye.

News travels fast and penetrates everywhere in that lost corner of
garrulous Gascony. The news that Paul had taken up his residence at
Saint-Graal could scarcely fail to reach the Queen. Would she remember
their childish intimacy? Would she make him a sign? Would she let him
see her, for old sake's sake? Oh, in all probability, no. Most
certainly, no. And yet--and yet, he couldn't forbid a little furtive
hope to flicker in his heart.

V.

It was only April, but the sun shone with midsummer strength.

After Andre left him, he went down into the garden.

From a little distance the house, against the sky, looked
insubstantial, a water-colour, painted in grey and amber on a field of
luminous blue. If he had wished it, he could have bathed himself in
flowers; hyacinths, crocuses, jonquils, camellias, roses, grew round
him everywhere, sending up a symphony of warm odours; further on, in
the grass, violets, anemones, celandine; further still, by the margins
of the pond, narcissuses, and tall white flowers-de-luce; and, in the
shrubberies, satiny azaleas; and overhead, the magnolia trees,
drooping with their freight of ivory cups. The glass doors of the
orangery stood open, a cloud of sweetness hanging heavily before them.
In the park, the chestnuts were in full leaf; and surely a thousand
birds were twittering and piping amongst their branches.

'Oh, bother! How it cries out for a woman,' said Paul. 'It's such a
waste of good ma