ment concocted of pity
and anger as well as of admiration, and bristling with scruples and
doubts and fears. He had come abroad to enjoy the Flemish painters and
all others, but what fair-tressed saint of Van Eyck or Memling was so
interesting a figure as the lonely lady of Saint-Germain? His restless
steps carried him at last out of the long villa-bordered avenue which
leads to the Bois de Boulogne.

Summer had fairly begun and the drive beside the lake was empty, but
there were various loungers on the benches and chairs, and the great
cafe had an air of animation. Longmore's walk had given him an appetite,
and he went into the establishment and demanded a dinner, remarking for
the hundredth time, as he admired the smart little tables disposed in
the open air, how much better (than anywhere else) they ordered this
matter in France. "Will monsieur dine in the garden or in the salon?"
the waiter blandly asked. Longmore chose the garden and, observing that
a great cluster of June roses was trained over the wall of the house,
placed himself at a table near by, where the best of dinners was served
him on the whitest of linen and in the most shining of porcelain. It so
happened that his table was near a window and that as he sat he could
look into a corner of the salon. So it was that his attention rested
on a lady seated just within the window, which was open, face to face
apparently with a companion who was concealed by the curtain. She was a
very pretty woman, and Longmore looked at her as often as was consistent
with good manners. After a while he even began to wonder who she was and
finally to suspect that she was one of those ladies whom it is no breach
of good manners to look at as often as you like. Our young man too, if
he had been so disposed, would have been the more free to give her all
his attention that her own was fixed upon the person facing her. She was
what the French call a belle brune, and though Longmore, who had rather
a conservative taste in such matters, was but half-charmed by her bold
outlines and even braver complexion, he couldn't help admiring her
expression of basking contentment.

She was evidently very happy, and her happiness gave her an air of
innocence. The talk of her friend, whoever he was, abundantly suited
her humour, for she sat listening to him with a broad idle smile and
interrupting him fitfully, while she crunched her bonbons, with a
murmured response, presumably as broad, which a