ition to Courland, he stayed some time
at the Manoir Cheverny and went to the chateau of Capello whenever he
liked. So, meeting him to-day, as I say, in the gardens of the Palais
Royal, and bringing him home with me--in fact, asking him to come and
sup with us, for his entertainment always pays for his supper, you
perceived the reception he got from my lady Francezka and Madame
Riano. Now, what am I to do?"

"You forget," I replied, "that in those days when Jacques Haret stayed
with you at the Manoir Cheverny, and with your brother Regnard at
Castle Haret, it was before that scoundrelly business with poor Lisa,
old Peter's niece."

"That is true," he answered reflectively. "It was a very atrocious
thing, as you say, but it is a common enough story. The girl was a
village girl; little more than a peasant."

I own I was full of disgust when Gaston Cheverny spoke thus. How
different was this from the high-souled, chivalric Gaston Cheverny
whom I had known, and who treated all women with the consideration of
a Bayard! I said, however, coldly enough:

"Perhaps you have forgotten that old Peter shared his wages with that
villain of a Jacques Haret--his wages, think of that! And in his own
poor house sheltered the fellow. I must say that seldom if ever in my
life have I known such treachery as Jacques Haret's."

I walked on, but Gaston kept step with me along the graveled paths,
through the bright flower beds and under the green arbors of the
garden. His face had changed completely. All amusement had vanished,
and in its place was an expression of perplexity, and even fear. At
last he stopped me under an arbor already covered with the young green
leaves of a climbing rose.

"Babache," he said, "I am pledged to have Jacques Haret sup with me;
that is the truth. You have great influence over Francezka. Will you
not endeavor to reconcile Francezka to me for receiving him?"

"No," I replied; "I have not lived so long without learning to keep
from meddling with affairs between husband and wife. But who cares for
offending Jacques Haret? I gave him a sound beating myself not a
fortnight ago in the gardens of the Luxembourg."

We were standing still in the arbor, and the mellow afternoon light
showed me every line in Gaston Cheverny's comely face. Nothing that he
had yet said or done had made me feel so like a stranger to him--to
Gaston Cheverny, with whom I had lived in the closest intimacy for
seven years--as his attitude