, at the sight of Lucille
among the gnarled old trees, that the self-deception was a thin one.
Alphonse had gone to France, being now released from his parole, so I
was spared the sight of Lucille and him together.

Madame, however, would not allow me to make my report until we had
dined, and we spent the intervening hour in talk of Paris, and the
extraordinary events passing there. The ladies, as indeed ladies
mostly are, were staunch Royalists, and while evincing but little
sympathy for the fallen Buonapartes, learnt with horror of the rise of
Anarchy and Republicanism in Paris.

"My poor country," exclaimed Madame. "It will be impossible to live in
France again."

And Lucille's eyes lighted up with anger when I told her of the plots
to assassinate the Duc D'Aumale--that brave soldier and worthiest
member of his family--merely because he was of the Royal race.

All Europe awaited at this time the fall of the desperate Communards,
who held Paris and defied the government of Versailles, while experts
vowed that the end could not be far off. It seemed impossible that a
rabble under the command of first one and then another adventurer
could hold the capital against disciplined troops, and I, like the
majority of onlookers, underestimated the possible duration of this
second siege. However, my listeners were consoled with the prospect of
returning to their beloved France before the summer passed.

Madame, as I remember, made a great feast in honour of my coming, and
the old butler, who had served my father and still called me Master
Dick, with an admonishing shake of the head, brought from the cellar
some great vintage of claret which Madame said could not have been
bettered from the cave at La Pauline.

Again at dinner I thought there was a change in Lucille, who deferred
to me on more than one occasion, and listened to my opinion almost as
if it deserved respect. After dinner she offered to sing, which she
had rarely done since the last sad days in Paris, and once more I
heard those old songs of Provence that melt the heart.

It was when Lucille was tired that Madame asked me to make my report,
and I produced the books. I had made a rough account showing Madame's
liability to myself, and can only repeat now the confession made long
ago that it was an infamous swindle. Madame had no head for figures,
as she had, indeed, a hundred times informed me, and I knew well that
she had no money to pay me. I had lived in th