tense--an unreasoning pity for her, and because of
that pity--the gentle kinsman of fierce love--he found it in his heart
to forgive her all her prejudices, that almost arrogant pride of caste
which was in her blood, for which she was no more responsible than she
was for the colour of her hair or the vivid blue of her eyes; she seemed
so forlorn--such a child, in the midst of all this decadent grandeur.
She was being so ruthlessly sacrificed for ideals that were no longer
tenable, that had ceased to be tenable five and twenty years ago when
this chateau and these lands were overrun by a savage and vengeful mob,
who were loudly demanding the right to live in happiness, in comfort,
and in freedom. That right had been denied to them through the past
centuries by those who were of her own kith and kin, and it was
snatched with brutal force, with lust of hate and thirst for reprisals,
by the revolutionary crowd when it came into its own at last.

Something of the pity which he felt for this beautiful and innocent
victim of rancour, oppression and prejudice, must have been manifest in
Clyffurde's earnest eyes, for when Crystal looked up to him and met his
glance she drew herself up with an air of haughty detachment. And with
that, she wished to convey still more tangibly to him the idea of that
barrier of caste which must for ever divide her from him.

Obviously his look of pity had angered her, for now she said abruptly
and with marked coldness:

"My father tells me, Sir, that you are thinking of leaving France
shortly."

"Indeed, Mademoiselle," he replied, "I have trespassed too long as it is
on M. le Comte's gracious hospitality. My visit originally was only for
a fortnight. I thought of leaving for England to-morrow."

A little lift of the eyebrows, an unnecessary smoothing of an invisible
crease in her gown and Crystal asked lightly:

"Before the . . . my wedding, Sir?"

"Before your wedding, Mademoiselle."

She frowned--vaguely stirred to irritation by his ill-concealed
indifference. "I trust," she rejoined pointedly, "that you are satisfied
with your trade in Grenoble."

The little shaft was meant to sting, but if Bobby felt any pain he
certainly appeared to bear it with perfect good-humour.

"I am quite satisfied," he said. "I thank you, Mademoiselle."

"It must be very pleasing to conclude such affairs satisfactorily," she
continued.

"Very pleasing, Mademoiselle."

"Of course--given the right tempera