es of those
who had seen it all and now sought in vain to restrain their laughter,
was too much for this startled fawn. She turned and fled as the wind,
just when their merry peal burst out.

"Well, my little lady had best look where she goes, and not run through
a door with her eyes behind her," roared de Virelle, when the girl had
well escaped.

"His clothes are ruined, and so fine, ah, so fine," drawled Miron.

"By my soul, Captain, you have flowers to spare," chimed in Le Rue.
"That's right, gather them up, for Mademoiselle is not usually so
generous with her guerdons that any should be lost. The little icicle."

His speech was suited to my actions, for, like a fool, I had already
dropped upon my knees, busied about picking up the scattered roses and
replacing them in the vases from which they had fallen. The tray was
still rolling and rattling around on the floor. Verily, I felt my
shame must consume me, and took refuge in this humble occupation to
hide my face. There is some sort of a confused recollection now
abiding with me, that a man-servant at length came to sweep up the
fragments, while I watched him vacantly, a tangled bunch of roses in my
hand.

In all their laughs and jests and jibes hurled at my embarrassment,
Jerome never for a moment lost sight of the main purpose of our visit.
As all roads led to Rome, so did he adroitly turn all topics of
conversation into those channels where might be supposed to run the
information we wanted.

I felt myself, especially in my present frame of mind, ill-fitted for
such a play. The blunt and awkward directness of the camp suited
better my ways and speech. Though I might discreetly hold my tongue, I
could never use it with the credit I could my sword. Nor could I rid
my mind of the childish vision which for one short instant confronted
me at the door. Even then I pondered more on her amazed expression and
youthful innocence than upon our own chances for success or failure.

From the comments of those about me, I gathered she was a protege of
Madame's, whose reserved manners made her no great favorite with the
dissolute throng which collected at the gay Villa of Sceaux. I took
little part in their conversation, and was glad when Jerome by a
gesture called me to follow him away.

"Let us go to see Madame," he said simply, when we were entirely out of
hearing.

"Du Maine?" I inquired, vaguely wondering why we should venture into
the lion's den.

"N