entertained the ladies in very good style at an outdoor fete. Regnard
Cheverny, of course, was present, and also the handsome, foolish Count
Bellegarde, whom Francezka treated with airy indifference. For
amusement there was peasant dancing and singing to rustic pipes, and
afterward a collation under the trees, at which the servants were
dressed in the national costume of Brabant; the national dishes were
served, and musicians, concealed in the shrubbery, played and sang the
songs and airs of Brabant. It was extremely pretty, the afternoon
being bright and soft. When the collation was over, Gaston escorted
Madame Riano and Francezka about the house and grounds. There was a
handsome drawing-room in one wing, which was seldom used, but was open
on this occasion. Gaston led the way to this room, where there was a
harpsichord, which he opened that Francezka might play on it. As she
fingered the keys with one hand, the other hanging down, she started
with a little shriek of dismay. A dog, crouching unseen under the
harpsichord, stood with his forepaws on the edge of Francezka's
chair, while he licked affectionately the little white hand so
temptingly within his reach.

"Good dog--wise dog," said Gaston Cheverny, patting the creature. He
was a Spanish pointer, of a reddish liver color, remarkably handsome,
with satiny, pendulous ears, and the most intelligent eye I have ever
seen in an animal. There are other dogs reckoned more affectionate and
intelligent than these Spanish pointers, but I never knew any dumb
creature superior to this one, as time strangely proved; for this dog
afterward played a great part in the drama of Francezka Capello's
life.

The dog seemed enraptured with Francezka, and she with him. She passed
his long ears through her white fingers, the dog giving a little whine
of delight, and rubbing his head against her satin gown of the color
of spring violets.

"What is his name?" she asked--the first question every woman asks
concerning a dog or a horse.

"Bold," replied Gaston. "And his taste and discernment on this
occasion has fixed his fate. I have been debating whether I should
take him or his brother, Rattler, with me to Paris, and was until now
inclined to Rattler--come out, my dog."

Gaston hauled Rattler forth from under the harpsichord. He was a
handsome dog also, but nothing like so pleasant mannered as Bold. I
had noticed the two dogs about the place since my arrival, and had all
along reco