The smell of the wild free air of the universe thrilled them both
with an exquisite recklessness. Vague, limitless, subtle in mystery, the
seduction of it was ineffable. Out of the corner of his eye he peeped at
her. But wasn't she perched entrancingly on that dragoon saddle, wasn't
she, though? The richly heavy coils of burnished copper had loosened,
and they were very disconcerting in their suggestion of flowing wealth.
If they _would_ but fall about her shoulders! And the lace from the
slanting hat brim, and the velvet patch near the dimple--the velvet
patch called an assassin. And--what dress was that? Flowered calico?
Yes, and light blue. His cheeks burned as of one surprised in crime, but
the self-possessed young woman herself was oblivious. So was it this, a
blue flowered gown, that made her so suddenly tangible, so tangible and
maddening? The haughty Parisienne of imperial courts was gone. In fact,
she had become so distractingly tangible that--well, he didn't know. But
a lump got into his throat. She might be a Missouri girl, this moment.
And there came to him the vision of one, of a Missouri girl molding
biscuits, patting them, and her arms were bared, in a simple piquancy
just like Jacqueline's now. He even saw the pickaninnies in the shade of
the porch outside, worshiping the real Missouri girl from the very
whites of their eyes. How he had loved to tease her! He could not help
it; she was so daintily prim. That he should thus think of his sister,
the while gazing on the one-time gilded butterfly--to say the least, it
was a pertinent comment on the transmuting magic that lurks in blue
flowered percale.

They slowed to a trot.

"Monsieur is my prisoner, yes," said she in her wonderful English.

He took the other meaning. "I don't know--_yet_," he returned
soberly.

She laughed, and he realized that he had spoken aloud.

He turned on himself in dismay. "What's the matter with me?" he
muttered.

"I think, monsieur," said Jacqueline demurely, "that I have the guess."

"You haven't--you can't guess either! I don't know myself."

"Just the same, I wish I knew so well my chances for heaven."

"But you're mistaken, I tell you. I'm not!"

"Not what, monsieur?"

"In, in--w'y, in love."

Jacqueline's laughter was the merriest peal. In the end he half grinned.
Little use trying to convince the little witch! He had much to do
convincing himself.

On the farther slope of a hill where coffee grew and the g