Her vanity had suffered recent shock, and an
unreasoning longing possessed her to be cared for, to be supremely
needed.

"_Michel_!" she cried imperatively from her post in the
doorway,--Michael objected strongly to the harsher pronunciation of his
name; and the two seldom spoke English when alone. "Is it necessary to
fire a salute before you will deign to be aware that one has come back?"

At that he turned quickly about, and treated her to a burlesque bow of
apology.

"_Mais non, cherie_ . . . a thousand pardons! But it is no fault of
mine that you have the footfall of a bird!"

She laughed in spite of herself.

"Keep those sort of speeches for Miss Mayhew. She may possibly believe
them. It would be all the same if I had the footfall of an elephant!
Nothing short of siege-guns would distract your mind from that picture.
It has bewitched you."

"_Eh bien_! When it is complete it will be a masterpiece," he assured
her loftily.

"No doubt! But, in the meanwhile, it may interest you to know that
except for a genuine miracle, I should not be here at all."

"_Mon Dieu_! But what happened? Tell me."

Flinging aside palette and brushes, he caught her hands in his, and it
cost her an effort to preserve her lightness of tone.

"Nothing blood-curdling, since you see me without bruise or scratch.
Only Yorick and I got tangled up with a herd of buffaloes on the Kajiar
Road. In his fright, the little fool slipped half over the khud, and
if a knight-errant had not fallen from heaven, in the nick of time, we
should both be lying somewhere in the valley by now, 'spoiling a patch
of Indian corn'!"

Maurice frowned. "Don't be gruesome, Quita."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be. I was only quoting that uncannily clever
Kipling boy at Lahore. Yorick and I were slithering over, just like
the loathly Tertium Quid on the Mushobra Road; and there is plenty of
Indian corn in the valley! I thought of it, all in a flash, and it
wasn't enlivening, I assure you."

"That is enough," Maurice protested hastily. Tragedy oppressed him to
the verge of annoyance. "But tell me--who was the knight-errant, that
I may at least shake hands with him."

The blood tingled in Quita's cheeks, and she went quickly forward into
the room.

"I doubt if you will want to do that when you know his name," she said.
"It was--Captain Lenox."

"_Nom de Dieu_! That fellow!" Michael flung out his hands with a
dramatic gesture of despair. "