tion--all of which combined to
produce that indescribable air which attaches itself to the gentleman.

"It is Alexia," she said, after some hesitation, watching him closely to
observe the effect.

But he was as far away as ever. "Alexia what?"

"Only Alexia," a faint coquetry stealing into her glance.

"O, then you are probably a maid?"

"Y--es. But you are disappointed?"

"No, indeed. You have put me more at ease. I suppose you serve the
princess?"

"Whenever I can," demurely.

He could not keep his eyes from hers. "They say that she is a very
lonely princess."

"So lonely." And the coquetry faded from her eyes as her glance wandered
waterward and became fixed on some object invisible and far away. "Poor
lonely princess!"

Maurice was growing colder and colder, but he did not mind. He had
wished for some woman to talk to; his wish had been granted. "I feel
sorry for her, if what they say is true," having no other words.

"And what do they say, Monsieur?"

"That she and her father have been socially ostracized. I should be
proud to be her friend." Once the words were gone from him, he saw
their silliness. "A presumptuous statement," he added; "I am an obscure
foreigner."

"Friendship, Monsieur, is a thing we all should prize, all the more so
when it is disinterested."

He said rapidly, for fear she might hear his teeth chatter: "They say
she is very beautiful. Tell me what she is like."

"I am no judge of what men call beauty. As to her character, I believe I
may recommend that. She is good."

He was sure that merriment twitched the corners of her lips, and he grew
thoughtful. "Alexia. Is that not her Highness's name also?"

"Yes, Monsieur; we have the same names." Her eyes fell, and she began to
finger the pages of the book.

"I am rested now," he said, with a sudden distrust. "I thank you."

"Come, then, and I will show you the way to the gate."

"I am sorry to have troubled you," he said.

She did not reply, and together they walked up the path. The plants
were dying, and the odor of decay hovered about them. Splashes of rich
vermilion crowned the treetops, leaves of gold, russet and faded green
rustled on the ground. The sun was gone behind the hills, the lake was
tinted with salmon and dun, and Maurice (who honestly would have liked
to run) was turning purple, not from atmospheric effect, but from the
partly congealed state of his blood. Already he was thinking that his
adventure had tur