ry of delight leaped involuntarily from the lips of the sweet la Roche
Vernay and she smiled exquisitely on Germain, who, in that moment,
wildly lost his heart.

CHAPTER VII

"THE LEAP IS TAKEN"

"Who is this Monsieur de Repentigny, Chevalier?--tell me," asked the
Princess, who was holding her little evening court in full circle on the
balustraded terrace behind the chateau. She sat well out where there was
plenty of room for the swell and spread of her vast garland-flounced
skirts,--a woman of something less than forty, the incarnation of inane
condescension. At her feet were her two pages--rosy little boys, dressed
exactly like full-grown gentlemen. The ladies of her circle sat around
her, each likewise skirt-voluminous, all pretending to be negligently
engaged unravelling scraps of gold and silver lace, the great
fashionable occupation of the day. Her reader stood behind her.

The Chevalier, when addressed, had just remounted the steps from the
lawn to the terrace with the Prince. He made a smiling bow.

"Monsieur de Repentigny?" he inquired. "I do not know of whom--ah, it is
of Germain you speak."

Only the little Abbe, crouching, noted the first half of his answer. He
treasured it away in his memory.

"Monsieur Germain then," continued the Princess--"this Canadian
gentleman. Is he one of your relations?"

"One of my dearest, Madame. Why do you ask?"

"Because he is the most adorable of men. He has explained to me the
_coiffure Montgolfier_."

"He is a picture," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Richeval.

"A man, Mademoiselle," returned de Bailleul warmly.

"Has he a fortune then, Chevalier?" she laughed.

"Perhaps he shall have mine," quizzed the old soldier.

"He must come with us to Versailles, Chevalier," said the Princess. "So
agreeable a person will be indispensable to me."

Germain, dallying behind the Chevalier, approached the foot of the
terrace steps.

"Monsieur-Germain," she cried to him, "will you do me the honour of
returning to Versailles with us?"

What could the poor fellow do but thank her with his profoundest bow,
though the situation set his head in a whirl.

"Is it the pleasure of Madame that I should read?" interrupted a harsh
and ruffled voice. The Princess, for reply, took out of her work-bag a
book of devotions and handed it to the Abbe. He received it with a
cringing bow, but as he glanced at it a suggestion of repugnance flitted
across his lips. "Or does she care fir