d the woods; chose rather
the St. Cyr road, or the Avenue de Paris. He walked, wrapt, a little
too picturesquely perhaps, in an old Campagna cloak, relic of his
years in Rome--with a fine collie for his companion. Once or twice in
the distance he caught sight of Eugenie and Fenwick--only to turn down
a side street, out of their way.

His thoughts meanwhile, day by day, his silent, thronging thoughts,
dealt with his own life--and theirs. Would she venture it? He
discussed it calmly with himself. It presented itself to him as an
act altogether unworthy of her. What hurt him most, however, at these
times, was the occasional sudden memory of Eugenie's face, trembling
with pain, under some slight or unkindness shown her by his wife.

One day Welby was sitting beside his wife on the sheltered side of
the Terrace, when Eugenie and Fenwick came in sight, emerging from the
Hundred Steps. Suddenly Welby bent over his wife.

'Elsie!--have _you_ noticed anything?'

'Noticed what?'

He motioned towards the distant figures. His gesture was a little dry
and hostile.

Elsie in amazement raised herself painfully on her elbow to look.

'Eugenie!' she said, breathlessly--'Eugenie--and Mr. Fenwick!'

Arthur Welby watched the transformation in her face. It was the first
time he had seen her look happy for months.

'What an _excellent_ thing!' she cried; all flushed and vehement.
'Arthur, you know you said how lonely she must be!'

'Is he worthy of her?' he said, slowly, finding his words with
difficulty.

'Well, of course, _we_ don't like him!--but then Uncle Findon does.
And if he didn't, it's Eugenie that matters--isn't it?--only Eugenie!
At her age, you can't be choosing her husband for her! Well, I never,
never thought--Eugenie's so close!--she'd make up her mind to marry
anybody!'

And she rattled on, in so much excitement that Welby hastily and
urgently impressed discretion upon her.

But when she and Eugenie next met, Eugenie was astonished by her
gaiety and good temper--her air of smiling mystery. Madame de
Pastourelles hoped it meant real physical improvement, and would have
liked to talk of it to Arthur; but all talk between them grew rarer
and more difficult. Thus Eugenie's walks with Fenwick through
the enchanted lands that surround Versailles became daily more
significant, more watched. Lord Findon groaned in his sick-room, but
still restrained himself.

It was a day--or rather a night--of late October--a w