slowly scraping one
foot backwards and forwards over the remains of the scattered
bonbons. At last he bethought him of a small bunch of charms
that he had got somewhere, and hung to his watch-chain, and
with which he had often enticed and won the hearts of
children.

"Would you like to come and look at these?" he said, holding
them up.

"No," she replied, ungraciously, and retreating a step
backwards.

"Not at this?" he said. "Here is a little steam engine that
runs on wheels; and, see, here is a fan that will open and
shut."

"No," she said again, with a determined little shake of her
head, and still retreating.

"But only look at this," he said, selecting a little flexible
enamel fish, and trying to lure back this small wild bird.
"See this little gold and green fish, it moves its head and
tail."

"No," she said once more, but the fish was evidently a
temptation, and she paused irresolute for a moment; but Graham
made a step forward, and this decided her.

"I don't care for _breloques_," she said, with disdain, "and I
don't want to see them, I tell you." And then, turning round,
she marched straight out of the room.

At that moment the music stopped, the waltzing ceased, an a
line of retreat was left open for Graham. He saw the Countess
once more approaching, and availed himself of it; out of the
noise and heat and crowd he fled, into the fresh open air of
the quiet courtyard.

CHAPTER III.

In the Courtyard.

Three gentlemen with cigars, sitting on the bench under the
salon windows, two more pacing up and down in the moonlight
before the hall-door, and a sixth apparently asleep in a
shadowy corner, were the only occupants of the courtyard.
Graham passed them by, and sought solitude at the lower end,
where he found a seat on the stone coping of the iron railing.
The peace and coolness and silence were refreshing, after the
heat and clamour of the salon; the broad harvest-moon had
risen above the opposite ridge of hills, and flooded
everything with clear light, the river gleamed and sparkled,
the poplars threw long still shadows across the white road;
now and then the leaves rustled faintly, some far-off voice
echoed back from the hills, and presently from the hotel the
sound of the music, and the measured beat of feet, came
softened to the ear, mingled with the low rush of the stream,
and the ceaseless ringing of the hammers in the village
forges.

Horace had not sat there above ten minute