would
have felt the charm--if his bride had let him.

Pools of water, deep among the rocks, were purple-pansy colour or beryl
green; but the "Source" itself, in its cup of stone, was like a block of
malachite. There was no visible bubbling of underground springs fighting
their way up to break the crystal surface of the fountain,--this
fountain so unlike any other fountain; but to the listening ear came a
moaning and rushing of unseen waters, now the high crying of Arethusa
escaping from her pursuing lover, now rich, low notes as of an organ
played in a vast cavern.

Above the gorge, the towering rocks with their huge holes and archways
hollowed out by turbulent water in dim, forgotten ages, looked exactly
as if the whole front wall had been knocked off a giant's castle,
exposing its secret labyrinths of rough-hewn rooms, floor rising above
floor even to the attics where the giant's servants had lived, and down
to the cellars where the giant's pet dragons were kept in chains.

I hadn't yet exhausted my ten minutes, though I began to have a guilty
consciousness that they would soon be gone, when I heard a step behind
me, and turning, saw Mr. Dane.

"They're having coffee in the car," he said. "Sir Samuel proposed it to
his wife, as if he thought it would be rather more select and exclusive
for her than drinking it in the inn; but I have a sneaking suspicion
that it was because he wanted to let me off. Not a bad old boy, Sir
Samuel."

So we saw the fountain of Vaucluse together, after all. I don't know why
that should have seemed important to me, but it did--a little.

We didn't say much to each other, all the way back to Avignon, but I
felt that the day had been a brilliant success, and was sure that the
next could not be as good. "What--not with St. Remy and Les Baux?"
exclaimed my brother. But I knew very little about St. Remy, and still
less about Les Baux. For a minute I was ashamed to confess, but then I
told myself that this was a much worse kind of vanity than being pleased
with the colour of one's hair or the length of one's eyelashes. Mr. Jack
Dane was too polite to show surprise at my ignorance; but that evening,
just as I was getting ready to go down to dinner, up he came with a
tray, as he had the night before; and on the tray, among covered dishes,
was a book.

"Two of your chauffeur-admirers from Aix are in the dining-room," he
said, "so I thought you'd rather stop up in your room and read T.A.
Coo