Together they descended the red-carpeted steps and out into the
palm-lined Place, at that hour thronged by the smartest crowd in Europe.
Indeed, the war seemed to have led to increased extravagance and daring
in the dress of those gay Parisiennes, those butterflies of fashion who
were everywhere along the Cote d'Azur.

They turned the corner by the Palais des Beaux Arts into the Boulevard
Peirara.

"Let's walk out of the town," he suggested to the girl. "I'm tired of
the place."

"So am I, Hugh," Dorise admitted. "For the first fortnight the unceasing
round of gaiety and the novelty of the Rooms are most fascinating, but,
after that, one seems cooped up in an atmosphere of vicious unreality.
One longs for the open air and open country after this enervating,
exotic life."

So when they arrived at the little church of Ste. Devote, the patron
saint of Monaco, that little building which everyone knows standing at
the entrance to that deep gorge the Vallon des Gaumates, they descended
the steep, narrow path which runs beside the mountain torrent and were
soon alone in the beautiful little valley where the grey-green olives
overhang the rippling stream. The little valley was delightfully quiet
and rural after the garish scenes in Monte Carlo, the cosmopolitan
chatter, and the vulgar display of the war-rich. The old habitue of
pre-war days lifts his hands as he watches the post-war life around the
Casino and listens to the loud uneducated chatter of the profiteer's
womenfolk.

As the pair went along in the welcome shadows, for the sun fell strong
upon the tumbling stream, Hugh was remarking upon it.

He had been at Monte Carlo with his father before the war, and realized
the change.

"I only wish mother would move on," Dorise exclaimed as they strolled
slowly together.

She presented a dainty figure in cream gabardine and a broad-brimmed
straw hat which suited her admirably. Her clothes were made by a certain
famous _couturiere_ in Hanover Square, for Lady Ranscomb had the art of
dressing her daughter as well as she did herself. Gowns make the lady
nowadays, or the fashionable dressmakers dare not make their exorbitant
charges.

"Then you also are tired of the place?" asked Hugh, as he strolled
slowly at her side in a dark-blue suit and straw hat. They made a
handsome pair, and were indeed well suited to each other. Lady Ranscomb
liked Hugh, but she had no idea that the young people had fallen so
violently in lo