with her. "Bring
your sketch-book, Monsieur Odiot," she called out gaily, "and I will
take you to Merlin's Tomb in the Enchanted Valley."

As a matter of fact, the woods around the castle of the Laroques were
the remains of the famous forest of Broceliande, and I had always been
promising myself a long ramble through this region of romance, but I had
never found time to explore it. I was now glad I had waited, for
Marguerite was a charming guide. Never had I seen her so light-hearted.
When we reached a great block of stone in the depth of the wood, under
which the wizard Merlin is said to be imprisoned by Vivien, Marguerite
made herself a garland of oak-leaves, and standing like a lovely
priestess clad all in white against the Druidic monument, she asked me
to make a sketch of her. With what joy did I paint the poetic vision
before me! I think she was pleased with the drawing, but on our way back
to the castle a foolish word of mine brought our friendship to an end.
We came to a picturesque little lake, at the end of which was a
waterfall, overgrown with brambles. In order to show what a good swimmer
her dog was, Marguerite threw something in the current and told him to
fetch it, but he got carried over the waterfall and caught in the
whirlpool below.

"Come away! He is drowning--come away! I can't bear to see it!" cried
Marguerite, seizing me by the arm. "No, do not attempt to save him. The
pool is very dangerous."

I am a good swimmer, however, and with a little trouble I managed to
rescue the dog.

"What madness!" she murmured. "You might have been drowned, and just for
a dog!"

"It was yours," I answered in a low voice.

Her manner at once changed.

"You had better run home, Monsieur Odiot," she said very coldly, "or you
will get a chill. Do not wait for me."

So I returned alone, and for some days Marguerite never spoke a word to
me. What was still worse, M. Bevallan appeared at the castle, and she
went for walks with him, leaving me in the company of Mlle. Helouin. I
am afraid that I became very friendly with the pretty governess.
Nothing, however, that I ever said to her, or that she said to me,
prepared me for the strange scene that happened to-night. As I was
walking along the terrace, she came up and took my arm, and said, "Are
you really my friend, Maxime?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then tell me the truth," she exclaimed. "Do you love me, or do you love
Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

"Why do you bring in