orst at once.
To travel, however, with Dormer Colville was a liberal education in the
virtues. No man could be less selfish or less easily fatigued; which are
the two bases upon which rest all the stumbling-blocks of travel.

Up to a certain point, Barebone and Dormer Colville became fast friends
during the month that elapsed between their departure from Mrs. St.
Pierre Lawrence's house and their arrival at the inn at Gemosac. The
"White Horse," at Gemosac, was no better and no worse than any other
"White Horse" in any other small town of France. It was, however, better
than the principal inn of a town of the same size in any other habitable
part of the globe.

There were many reasons why the Marquis de Gemosac had yielded to
Colville's contention--that the time had not yet come for Loo Barebone
to be his guest at the chateau.

"He is inclined to be indolent," Colville had whispered. "One
recognises, in many traits of character, the source from whence his
blood is drawn. He will not exert himself so long as there is some one
else at hand who is prepared to take trouble. He must learn that it is
necessary to act for himself. He needs rousing. Let him travel through
France, and see for himself that of which he has as yet only learnt at
second-hand. That will rouse him."

And the journey through the valleys of the Garonne and the Dordogne had
been undertaken.

Another, greater journey, was now afoot, to end at no less a centre
of political life than Paris. A start was to be made this evening, and
Dormer Colville now came to report that all was ready and the horses at
the gate.

"If there were scenes such as this for all of us to linger in,
mademoiselle," he said, lifting his face to the western sky and inhaling
the scent of the flowers growing knee-deep all around him, "men would
accomplish little in their brief lifetime."

His eyes, dreamy and reflective, wandered over the scene and paused,
just for a moment in passing, on Juliette's face. She continued her way,
with no other answer than a smile.

"She grows, my dear Marquis--she grows every minute of the day and wakes
up a new woman every morning," said Colville, in a confidential
aside, and he went forward to meet Loo with his accustomed laugh of
good-fellowship. He whom the world calls a good fellow is never a wise
man.

Barebone walked toward the gate without joining in the talk of his
companions. He was thoughtful and uneasy. He had come to say good-bye