ice as
tender as hers had been disdainful. He put one knee on the ground, placed
the little slipper upon the other and seemed to await his enemy's
pleasure. But the latter found a new subject for complaint in the
pedestal offered her, for she said with increased severity:

"On the ground, Monsieur; and let that end it."

He obeyed, without a reply, after giving her a reproachful glance by
which she was as much moved as by his silent obedience. She put out her
foot with a more gracious air, and thrust it into the slipper. To be a
correct historian, we must admit that this time she left it in the hands
which softly pressed it longer than was strictly necessary. When Octave
had fastened it with skill but with no haste, he bent his head and
pressed his lips to the openwork stocking, through which he could catch a
glimpse of white, satiny skin.

"My husband!" exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, as she heard the clatter of
horses' hoofs at the end of the avenue; and without adding a word she
fled rapidly toward the chateau. Gerfaut arose from his position no less
rapidly and darted into the woods. A rustling of branches which he heard
a few steps from him made him uneasy at first, for he feared that an
invisible witness had been present at this imprudent interview; but he
was soon reassured by the silence which reigned about him.

After the Baron and his sister had passed, he crossed the avenue and soon
disappeared over the winding road on the other side of the bridge.

CHAPTER V

ART AND MUSIC

A league below the castle of Bergenheim, the village of La Fauconnerie
was situated, at the junction of several valleys the principal of which,
by means of an unfrequented road, opened communications between Lorraine
and upper Alsatia. This position had been one of some importance in the
Middle Ages, at the time when the Vosges were beset with partisans from
the two countries, always ready to renew border hostilities, the
everlasting plague of all frontiers. Upon a cliff overlooking the village
were situated the ruins which had given the village its name; it owed it
to the birds of prey [falcons, in French: 'faucons'], the habitual guests
of the perpendicular rocks. To render proper justice to whom it belongs,
we should add that the proprietors of La Fauconnerie had made it a point
at all times to justify this appellation by customs more warlike than
hospitable; but for some time the souvenirs of their feudal prowess had
sle