moment, and no doubt believed everything he
said. He had not given himself quite time enough to get back to his
schedule. With that in good running order he would laugh at his
present folly.

For she must remember that Monte had not as yet touched either the
heights or the depths of love. It was in him to do that, but she must
see to it that he did not. That was her task. Love as he saw it now
was merely a pleasant garden, in May. It was a gypsy jaunt along the
open road where it was pleasant enough to have her with him as he
whistled along. A day or a week or a month or two of that was well
enough, as he had said. Only she--she could not last that long.
To-day and to-morrow at the utmost was as much as she could endure,
with every minute a struggle to whip back her emotions. Were it safe,
she would try to keep it up for his sake. If without danger she could
keep him happy this way, not allowing him to go any further, she would
try. But there is a limit to what of herself a woman may sacrifice,
even if she is willing.

So, with her lips set, she stumbled along the Cornice Road by his side.

At five that evening they had made half their journey and stopped at a
wayside inn--the inn of L'Agneau dansant. On a squeaking sign before
the ancient stone structure, which looked as if it must have been there
in the days of post-chaises, a frolicsome lamb danced upon his hind
legs, smiling to all who paused there an invitation to join him in this
innocent pastime and not take the world too seriously. The good humor
of the crude painting appealed to Monte. He grinned back at L'Agneau
dansant.

"I'm with you," he nodded.

Marjory, dusty and footsore, followed his gaze.

Then she too smiled.

"That fellow has the proper spirit," he declared. "Shall we place
ourselves in his care?"

"I'm afraid I can't go any farther," she answered wearily.

Monsieur Soucin came out, looking to be in anything but the mood of the
gay lamb before his door.

"Two rooms, a little supper, and some breakfast," explained Monte.
"But we must strike a bargain. We are not American tourists--merely
two travelers of the road without much gold and a long way to go."

"I have but a single louis d'or," put in madame.

"Monsieur! Madame!" interrupted Soucin. "I am sorry, but I cannot
accommodate you at any price. In the next village a regiment of
soldiers have arrived. I have had word that I must receive here ten
officers. They