ed costume of a
labourer's wife. 'Welcome, Monsieur Valmont,' she cried, in French of
almost faultless intonation. 'I am so glad you have arrived,' and she
greeted me as if I were an old friend of the family. There was nothing
of condescension in her manner; no display of her own affability,
while at the same time teaching me my place, and the difference in our
stations of life. I can stand the rudeness of the nobility, but I
detest their condescension. No; Lady Alicia was a true de Bellairs,
and in my confusion, bending over her slender hand, I said:--

'Madame la Marquise, it is a privilege to extend to you my most
respectful salutations.'

She laughed at this quietly, with the melting laugh of the
nightingale.

'Monsieur, you mistake my title. Although my uncle is a marquis, I am
but Lady Alicia.'

'Your pardon, my lady. For the moment I was back in that scintillating
Court which surrounded Louis le Grand.'

'How flatteringly you introduce yourself, monsieur. In the gallery
upstairs there is a painting of the Marquise de Bellairs, and when I
show it to your tomorrow, you will then understand how charmingly you
have pleased a vain woman by your reference to that beautiful lady.
But I must not talk in this frivolous strain, monsieur. There is
serious business to be considered, and I assure you I looked forward
to your coming, monsieur, with the eagerness of Sister Anne in the
tower of Bluebeard.'

I fear my expression as I bowed to her must have betrayed my
gratification at hearing these words, so confidentially uttered by
lips so sweet, while the glance of her lovely eyes was even more
eloquent than her words. Instantly I felt ashamed of my chaffering
over terms with her uncle; instantly I forgot my resolution to depart
on the morrow; instantly I resolved to be of what assistance I could
to this dainty lady. Alas! the heart of Valmont is today as
unprotected against the artillery of inspiring eyes as ever it was in
his extreme youth.

'This house,' she continued vivaciously, 'has been practically in a
state of siege for two months. I could take none of my usual walks in
the gardens, on the lawns, or through the park, without some clumsy
policeman in uniform crashing his way through the bushes, or some
detective in plain clothes accosting me and questioning me under the
pretence that he was a stranger who had lost his way. The lack of all
subtlety in our police is something deplorable. I am sure the real
cri