wonderful return. The number of persons who knew that he must
eventually come back was very large--I believe I did not see one
single person who was not convinced all along that Gaston would be
found. And the country rang with praises of Madame Cheverny's
constancy and devotion. Especially did this come from the people who
had declared Francezka to be wildly visionary and had severely
condemned her course from the beginning.

CHAPTER XXVII

A ROYAL RECOMPENSE

It was night when we reached the chateau of Capello. Afar off, we
could see the windows blazing with lights and hear the heavenly
thrilling of music. The villagers were dancing by moonlight on the
village green, to the music of pipes; we heard that every night since
Gaston Cheverny's return, there had been dancing and music everywhere
on the estates of Capello, as well as at the chateau.

When we dismounted before the great entrance, we could see that the
chateau was full of company, and a ball was going on in the Diana
gallery. Old Peter received us, and fairly burst into tears of joy
when we greeted him. An army of servants were in splendid new
liveries; there seemed to be no limit to waxlights, and everything was
in gala.

We were shown to our rooms to change our traveling clothes, and soon
descended to the red saloon, where Francezka and Gaston received their
guests. I was so eager to see how Francezka bore her happiness, that I
saw only her, standing at the top of the splendidly lighted room with
Gaston by her side. She wore a trailing gown of white shimmering
satin, and pearls and diamonds were on her matchless white throat and
in her rich hair. She had lost long since the air of graceful pride
and innocent triumph which marked her first bright youth, and now,
with all her joy, there was a soft deprecation, that in one by nature
so proud as Francezka was the sweetest thing in the world. I saw all
this while my master was making his compliments to Francezka, and
embracing Gaston. Francezka, by that time, was looking into my face,
with tears on her cheeks, and grasping my hand with both of hers, she
only said:

"My dear, dear Babache--my faithful friend--"

Then she turned to Gaston, who embraced me warmly.

"Francezka has told me all, Babache," he cried. "How can I thank you
enough!"

In that brief moment I noticed that Gaston had changed much, as one
might expect in those seven years of exile and misery, but not for the
worse. On the c