he would not read to M. Destournelle--not a bit of it. In it he
should have neither part nor lot.--Registering which determination, she
shook her charming, honey-coloured head, holding up both hands with a
gesture of humorous and well-defined repudiation.

For, in truth, the day of M. Destournelle appeared, just now, to be
very effectually over. It had been reasonable enough to urge her
natural fears in journeying through a war-distracted land--although
guarded by Charles, most discreet and resourceful of English
men-servants, and Zelie Forestier, most capable of French
lady's-maids--as excuse for Paul Destournelle joining her at a wayside
station a short distance out of Paris and accompanying her south. _A la
guerre comme a la guerre._ A beautiful woman can hardly be too careful
of her person amid the many and primitive dangers which battle and
invasion let loose. De Vallorbes himself--detestably jealous though he
was--could hardly have objected to her thus securing effective
protection, had he been acquainted with the fact. That he was not so
acquainted was, of course, the veriest oversight. But, the frontier
once reached--the better part of three weeks had elapsed in the
reaching of it--and all danger of war and tumult past, both the
necessity and, to be frank, the entertainment of M. Destournelle's
presence became less convincing. Helen grew a trifle weary of his
transports, his suspicions, his _bel tete de Jesu souffrant_, his
insatiable literary and personal vanity. The charm, the excitement, of
the situation, began to wear rather threadbare, while the practical
inconveniences and restrictions it imposed increasingly disclosed
themselves. A lover, as Helen reflected, provided you see enough of
him, offers but small improvement upon a husband. He is liable to
become possessive and didactic, after the manner of the natural man. He
is liable to forget that the relation is permitted, not legalised--that
it exists on suffrance merely, and is therefore terminable at the will
of either party. The last days of that same southern journey had been
marked by misunderstandings and subsequent reconciliations, in an
ascending scale of acrimony and fervour on the part of her companion.
In Helen's case familiarity tended very rapidly to breed contempt. She
ceased to be in the least amused by these recurring agitations. At
Pisa, after a scene of a particularly excited nature, she lost all
patience, frankly told her admirer that sh