destinies decided for them, but Francezka knew, from her
childhood, that she would one day be mistress of herself and her
fortune. This had given her an exultant air, pretty and charming
enough, but after all, what is so becoming to a woman as humility? And
this sweet new humility of Francezka's was more winning than I can
say. The whole expression of her lovely face had changed. Her eyes,
instead of sparkling like stars, were soft, and had the quiet beauty
of a lake by moonlight. They had a supplicating look. Francezka was
yearning for something, like other human beings, and so, was more
nearly like the rest of the human family. We sat together on the stone
bench, the lake lying cool and somber before us; night seemed to have
come upon it although the sun still blazed in the west. The dog licked
my hand, and showed great friendship for me, and I told Francezka how
ingeniously he had escaped from me at Strasburg to join his master.

"Well," replied Francezka, demurely, "no one can blame Bold for
running away to join such a master. I have read in old Homer
somewhere that Achilles tells Agamemnon he is as impudent as a dog. If
it is impudence like Bold's, Agamemnon might have taken it as a high
compliment."

To this frank expression of admiration for both Gaston Cheverny and
his dog, I said:

"I have had letters from Gaston Cheverny within the month. Perhaps you
have heard later?"

For answer Francezka looked at me for a whole minute in silence, her
eyes glowing with fire and dew and with a smile as soft and beautiful
as a summer dawn, and meanwhile, the eloquent blood hung out its
banners in her cheek. Then suddenly, her graceful figure drooped, and
she hid her face upon the dog's head, which lay upon her lap. I was
astounded; I had never seen Francezka overcome with bashfulness
before. I sat silent, watching her. She trembled, and in a little
while the red blood crept from her cheek, into her white neck under
her muslin kerchief. Some instinct told me that this soft tumult
referred to Gaston Cheverny, and that his fate and Francezka's were
now forever linked together. I said no word but waited until Francezka
raised her blushing face and spoke.

"Babache," she said, "I made Gaston promise that he would keep from
every human being the secret between us--and I confess, in the
agitation of parting, I overlooked my good Babache--but I can not keep
anything concealed from you, when your kind eyes are fixed upon me.
W