d saint, with the blood of Greek kings in his veins,
all of which was eventually spilled like water in the name of religion.
It seemed very suitable that such perfection of carving and proportion
as was shown in steps, towers, facade, and frieze should be dedicated to
a Greek saint, who must have adored and understood true beauty as few of
his brother saints could.

Mr. Dane had said, just before I started, that there was a gem of a
spiral staircase, called the Vis de St. Gilles, which I ought to see,
and a house, unspoiled since mediaeval days; but the question of these
sights was settled adversely for me by my master and mistress. The
frieze they did admire, but it sufficed. Their inner man and woman
clamoured for a feast, and the eyes must be sacrificed.

As for me, I did not count even as a sacrifice, of course, but I
followed them back to the car as I'd followed them from it, and the car
flew toward Nimes.

Just at first, for a few moments which I hate to confess to myself now,
I was disappointed in Nimes. The town looked cold, and modern, and
conceited after the melancholy charm of Arles and the mediaeval aspect of
Avignon; but that was only as we drove to our stately hotel in its
large, dignified square. Afterward--after the inevitable lunching and
unpacking--when I started out once again in the society of my adopted
relative, I prayed to be forgiven.

A gale was blowing, but little cared we. A toque or a picture-hat make
all the difference in the world to a woman's impressions, even of
Paradise--if the wind be ever more than a lovely zephyr there. Lady
Turnour had insisted on changing her motoring hat for a Gainsborough
confection which would, I was deadly certain, cause her to loathe Nimes
while memory should last; but the better part was mine. Toqued and
veiled, the mistral could crack its cheeks if it liked; it couldn't hurt
mine, or do unseemly things to my hair.

In the gardens of Louis XIV. I gave myself to Nimes as devotee forever;
and as the glories of the past slowly dawned upon me, that Past round
which the King had planted his flowers and formal trees, and placed
vases and statues, I wished I were a worthier worshipper at the shrine.

I think that there can be no more beautiful town in the world than Nimes
in springtime. The wind brought fairy perfumes, and lovely little green
and golden puff-balls fell from the budding trees at our feet, as if
they wanted to surprise us. The fish in the crystal