ved, as hitherto, in three small
apartments over the rooms occupied by Marie and her husband.

An elderly relation--one of those old ladies habited in black, who are
ready to efface themselves all day and occupy a garret all night in
return for bed and board, had been added to the family. She contributed
a silent and mysterious presence, some worldly wisdom, and a profound
respect for her noble kinsman.

"She is quite harmless," Juliette explained, gaily, to Barebone, on
the first occasion when they were alone together. This did not present
itself until Loo had been quartered in the Italian house for some days,
with his own servant. Although he took luncheon and dinner with the
family in the old building near to the gate-house, and spent his
evenings in Juliette's drawing-room, the Marquis or Madame Maugiron
was always present, and as often as not, they played a game of chess
together.

"She is quite harmless," said Juliette, tying, with a thread, the
primroses she had been picking in that shady corner of the garden which
lay at the other side of the Italian house. The windows of Barebone's
apartment, by the way, looked down upon this garden, and he, having
perceived her, had not wasted time in joining her in the morning
sunshine.

"I wonder if I shall be as harmless when I am her age."

And, indeed, danger lurked beneath her lashes as she glanced at him,
asking this question with her lips and a hundred others with her eyes,
with her gay air of youth and happiness--with her very attitude of
coquetry, as she stood in the spring sunshine, with the scent of the
primroses about her.

"I think that any one who approaches you will always do so at his peril,
Mademoiselle."

"Then why do it?" she asked, drawing back and busying herself with the
flowers, which she laid against her breast, as if to judge the effect
of their colour against the delicate white of her dress. "Why run into
danger? Why come downstairs at all?"

"Why breathe?" he retorted, with a laugh. "Why eat, or drink, or sleep?
Why live? Mon Dieu! because there is no choice. And when I see you in
the garden, there is no choice for me, Mademoiselle. I must come down
and run into danger, because I cannot help it any more that I can
help--"

"But you need not stay," she interrupted, cleverly. "A brave man may
always retire from danger into safety."

"But he may not always want to, Mademoiselle."

"Ah!"

And, with a shrug of the shoulders, she inserted