d. When he was here last, he did a
sketch of Henri and Gabrielle hunting in the forest; "Gaby" pearl-fair
in green satin, embroidered with silver; on her head the famous hat of
velvet-like red taffetas, which cost Henri two hundred crowns. Perhaps
she carried in her hand one of the handkerchiefs for which she paid what
other women pay for dresses; but Brian's sketches are too
"impressionist" to show handkerchiefs! Anyhow, her hand was in the
king's, for that was her way of riding with her gray-clad lover; though
when she went alone she rode boldly astride. Poor Henri couldn't say nay
to the becoming green satin and red hat, though he was hard up in those
days. After paying a bill of Gaby's, he asked his valet how many shirts
and handkerchiefs he had. "A dozen shirts, torn," was the answer.
"Handkerchiefs, five."

On the walls of the room where we ate hung beautiful old engravings of
Napoleon I in his daily life at the Chateau of Compiegne. Napoleon
receiving honoured guests in the vast Galerie des Fetes, with its
polished floor and long line of immense windows; Napoleon and his bride
in the Salon des Dames d'Honneur, among the ladies of Marie Louise;
Napoleon listening wistfully--thinking maybe of lost Josephine--to a
damsel at the harp, in the Salon de Musique; Marie Louise smirking
against a background of _teinture chinoise_; Napoleon observing a
tapestry battle of stags in the Salle des Cerfs; Napoleon on the
magnificent _terrasse_ giving a garden party; Napoleon walking with his
generals along the Avenue des Beaux Monts, in the park. But these
pictures rather teased than pleased us, because in war days only the
army enters palace or park.

Brian was luckier than the rest of us! He had been through the chateau
and forgotten nothing. Best of all he had liked the bedchamber of Marie
Antoinette, said to be haunted by her ghost, in hunting dress with a
large hat and drooping plume. The Empress Eugenie, it seemed, had loved
this room, and often entered it alone to dream of the past. Little could
she have guessed then how near she would come to some such end as that
fatal queen, second in beauty only to herself.

Even if Julian O'Farrell's significant glance hadn't called my attention
to his sister, I should have noticed how Dierdre lost her sulky look in
listening to Brian.

"He has something to say to me about those two when he gets a chance,
and he wants me to know it now," I thought. But I pretended to be
absorbed