n more perfect, Mademoiselle!"

"Fanny is best in action, and splendid when she runs away. She hasn't run
away to-day, but I think she is likely to before I get home."

She was thinking of the long ride which she had no intention of taking in
Chauvenet's company. He stood uncovered beside her, holding his horse.

"But the danger, Mademoiselle! You should not hazard your life with a
runaway horse on these roads. It is not fair to your friends."

"You are a conservative, Monsieur. I should be ashamed to have a runaway
in a city park, but what does one come to the country for?"

"What, indeed, but for excitement? You are not of those tame young women
across the sea who come out into the world from a convent, frightened at
all they see and whisper 'Yes, Sister,' 'No, Sister,' to everything they
hear."

"Yes; we Americans are deficient in shyness and humility. I have often
heard it remarked, Monsieur Chauvenet."

"No! No! You misunderstand! Those deficiencies, as you term them, are
delightful; they are what give the charm to the American woman. I hope
you would not believe me capable of speaking in disparagement,
Mademoiselle,--you must know--"

The water tumbled down the rock into the vale; the soft air was sweet
with the scent of pines. An eagle cruised high against the blue overhead.
Shirley's hand tightened on the rein, and Fanny lifted her head
expectantly.

Chauvenet went on rapidly in French:

"You must know why I am here--why I have crossed the sea to seek you in
your own home. I have loved you, Mademoiselle, from the moment I first
saw you in Florence. Here, with only the mountains, the sky, the wood,
I must speak. You must hear--you must believe, that I love you! I offer
you my life, my poor attainments--"

"Monsieur, you do me a great honor, but I can not listen. What you ask is
impossible, quite impossible. But, Monsieur--"

Her eyes had fallen upon a thicket behind him where something had
stirred. She thought at first that it was an animal of some sort; but she
saw now quite distinctly a man's shabby felt hat that rose slowly until
the bearded face of its wearer was disclosed.

"Monsieur!" cried Shirley in a low tone; "look behind you and be careful
what you say or do. Leave the man to me."

Chauvenet turned and faced a scowling mountaineer who held a rifle and
drew it to his shoulder as Chauvenet threw out his arms, dropped them to
his thighs and laughed carelessly.

"What is it, my dear fello