ound Lucille already; at the piano.

"I have some new songs," she said, "from the Basque country. I wonder
if you will prefer them to the old."

I was crossing the room towards Madame, and a silence made me pause
and look towards the piano. Lucille was addressing me--and no doubt I
was clumsy enough to betray my surprise.

"I think I shall prefer the old ones, Mademoiselle," I answered.

She was fingering the pages carelessly, and Alphonse, who was always
quick at such matters, stepped forward.

"As the songs are new the pages will require turning."

"Thank you," answered Lucille, rather coldly as I thought, and Madame
looked at me with a queer expression of impatience, as if I had done
something amiss. She took up her book and presently closed her eyes.
John Turner did the same, and I, remembering that he was a heavy
breather, went up to him.

"I am ready to beat you at billiards," I said.

Lucille and Alphonse were so much engaged at the piano as to be
apparently oblivious to our departure. I suppose that they were
grateful to us in their hearts for going.

My friend did not play long or skilfully, and I, like all
ne'er-do-wells, played a fair game in those days.

"Yes," he said, when handsomely beaten, "you evidently play on
Sundays. Let us sit down and smoke."

I could not help noticing that the music had ceased. Lucille and
Alphonse were probably talking together in low voices at the piano
while Madame kindly slept.

"Don't scowl at me like that," said John Turner, "but take one of
these cigars."

We sat down, and smoked for some time in silence.

"It is one thing," said my companion at length, "to give a man a fair
chance, and another to throw away your own."

"What do you mean?"

"Why marry Mademoiselle to a weak-kneed fellow like Giraud?"

"He is not a weak-kneed fellow," I interrupted, "and can sit a horse
as well as any man in the county."

"Life does not consist of sitting on horses."

"And he has proved himself a brave soldier."

"A man may be a brave soldier and make a poor fight of his life,"
persisted Turner. "Besides, it is against her will."

"Against her will?"

"Yes," said John Turner. "She wants to marry quite a different man."

"That may be," answered I, "but it is none of my business. I have no
influence with Mademoiselle, who is one of my enemies. I have many."

"No--you haven't," said Turner, stoutly. "You have but one, and she is
a clever one. Isabella Gayerson is