might arrive the following morning.

At the Lyons station the next morning I had the satisfaction of seeing
the two ladies step from the Marseilles express. Lucille would
scarcely look at me. During the drive to the Rue des Palmiers I
acquainted Madame with the state of affairs, and she listened to my
recital with a grave attention and a quiet occasional glance into my
face which would have made it difficult to tell aught but the truth.

When we reached home Alphonse Giraud had gone out; the Vicomte was
still in his room. He had slept little and was much disturbed, the
valet told us. As we mounted the stairs, I saw the two ladies glance
instinctively towards the closed door of the Vicomte's study. We are
all curious respecting death and vice. Madame went straight to her
husband's apartment. At the head of the stairs the door of the
morning-room stood open. It was the family rendezvous, where we
usually found the ladies at the luncheon hour.

Lucille went in there, leaving the door open behind her. I have always
rushed at my fences, and have had the falls I merited. I followed
Lucille into the sunlit room. She must have heard my footsteps, but
took no notice--walking to the window, and standing there, rested her
two hands on the sill while she looked down into the garden.

"Mademoiselle!"

She half turned her head with a little haughty toss of it, looking not
at me, but at the ground beneath my feet.

"Well, Monsieur?"

"In what have I offended you?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and I, looking at her as she stood with
her back to me, knew again and always that the world contained but
this one woman for me.

"Since I told you of my feeling towards yourself," I went on, "and was
laughed at for my pains, I have been careful not to take advantage of
my position in the house. I have not been so indiscreet again."

She was playing with the blind-cord in an attitude and humour so
youthful that I had a sort of tugging at the heart.

"Perhaps, though," I continued, "I have offended in my very
discretion. I should have told you again--that I love you--that you
might again enjoy the joke."

She stamped her foot impatiently.

"Of course," she said, "you are cleverer than I--you can be sarcastic,
and say things I do not know how to answer."

"You can at least answer my question--Mademoiselle."

She turned and faced me with angry eyes.

"Well--then. I do not like the ways of English gentlemen."

"Ah!"

"You to