Welby looked anxiously at his wife. She had closed her eyes, and her
pale lips, tightly shut, made no movement.

'I think I promised Elsie to stay with her,' he said, uncertainly.

'Let _me_ stay with Elsie, please,' said Eugenie.

The blue eyes unclosed.

'Don't be more than an hour, Arthur,' said the young wife,
ungraciously. 'You know I asked Mrs. Westmacott to tea.'

The gentlemen walked off, and a sharp sensation impressed upon Madame
de Pastourelles that Arthur was only allowed to go with Lord Findon,
because _she_ was not of the party.

A sudden colour rose into her cheeks. For the hour that followed,
she devoted herself to her cousin. But Mrs. Welby was difficult and
querulous. Amongst other complaints she expressed herself bitterly
as to the appearance of Mr. Fenwick at Versailles. Arthur had been so
taken aback--Mr. Fenwick was always so atrociously rude to him! Arthur
would have never come to Versailles had he known; but of course, as
Uncle Findon and Eugenie liked Mr. Fenwick, as he was their friend,
Arthur couldn't now avoid meeting him. It was extremely disagreeable.

'I think they needn't meet very much,' said Eugenie, soothingly--'and
papa and I will do our best to keep Mr. Fenwick in order.'

'I wonder why he came,' said Elsie, fretfully.

'He has some work to do for the production of this play on Marie
Antoinette. And I suppose he wanted to meet us. You see, we didn't
know about Arthur.'

'I can't think why you like him so much.'

'He is an old friend, my dear!--and just now very unhappy, and out of
spirits.'

'All his own fault, Arthur says. He had the ball at his feet.'

'I know,' said Eugenie, smiling sadly. 'That's the tragedy of it!'

There was silence. Mrs. Welby still observed her companion. A variety
of expressions, all irritable or hostile, passed through the large,
languid eyes.

* * * * *

The afternoon faded--on the blue surface of the distant 'canal,' the
great poplars that stand sentinel at the western edge of the Park,
one to right, and one to left--last _gardes du corps_ of the House of
France!--threw long shadows on the water; and across the opening
which they marked, drifted the smoke of burning weeds, the only but
sufficient symbol, amid the splendid scene, of that peasant France
which destroyed Versailles. It was four o'clock, and to their left, as
they sat sheltered on the southern side of the chateau, the visitors
of the day we