re hugging
some holy thought. After breakfast she took a book and sat in the open
window, whence she could see the poplar-trees guarding the entrance.
There was a breeze; the roses close by kept nodding to her; the cathedral
bells were in full chime; bees hummed above the lavender; and in the sky
soft clouds were floating like huge, white birds.

The sounds of Miss Naylor's staccato dictation travelled across the room,
and Greta's sighs as she took it down, one eye on her paper, one eye on
Scruff, who lay with a black ear flapped across his paw, and his tan
eyebrows quivering. He was in disgrace, for Dominique, coming on him
unawares, had seen him "say his prayers" before a pudding, and take the
pudding for reward.

Christian put her book down gently, and slipped through the window. Harz
was coming in from the road. "I am all yours!" she whispered. His
fingers closed on hers, and he went into the house.

She slipped back, took up her book, and waited. It seemed long before he
came out, but when he did he waved her back, and hurried on; she had a
glimpse of his face, white to the lips. Feeling faint and sick, she flew
to her stepfather's room.

Herr Paul was standing in a corner with the utterly disturbed appearance
of an easy-going man, visited by the unexpected. His fine shirt-front
was crumpled as if his breast had heaved too suddenly under strong
emotion; his smoked eyeglasses dangled down his back; his fingers were
embedded in his beard. He was fixing his eye on a spot in the floor as
though he expected it to explode and blow them to fragments. In another
corner Mrs. Decie, with half-closed eyes, was running her finger-tips
across her brow.

"What have you said to him?" cried Christian.

Herr Paul regarded her with glassy eyes.

"Mein Gott!" he said. "Your aunt and I!"

"What have you said to him?" repeated Christian.

"The impudence! An anarchist! A beggar!"

"Paul!" murmured Mrs. Decie.

"The outlaw! The fellow!" Herr Paul began to stride about the room.

Quivering from head to foot, Christian cried: "How dared you?" and ran
from the room, pushing aside Miss Naylor and Greta, who stood blanched
and frightened in the doorway.

Herr Paul stopped in his tramp, and, still with his eyes fixed on the
floor, growled:

"A fine thing-hein? What's coming? Will you please tell me? An
anarchist--a beggar!"

"Paul!" murmured Mrs. Decie.

"Paul! Paul! And you!" he pointed to Miss Naylor--"