y or two," I
prophesied, "or sending it back to our landlord to add to his
collection of animals."

"You will see that I shan't throw it away," the Boy returned, and
insisted upon carrying the parcel in his hand, instead of having it
sent from the shop to the hotel. When we had learned something of the
town we sauntered homeward; and seated in the _vaste parc_ with a
novel and a red silk parasol, we found Gaeta. "Where have you been so
early?" she asked.

"To find a burnt-offering for your shrine," said the Boy; and tearing
off the white wrappings, he gave her the silver chamois.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIX

The Little Rift within the Lute

"There comes a mist, and a weeping rain,
And nothing is ever the same again;
Alas!"
--GEORGE MACDONALD.

We devoted three days to some exquisite excursions, which more than
half consoled me for sacrificing Mont Blanc to make a tyrant's
holiday, and then decided to push on to Aix-les-Bains, stopping on the
way for a glimpse of Annecy.

The Contessa had planned to go from Chamounix to Aix by rail with her
friends, but she had either fallen in love with our mode of travelling
or pretended it. A hint to the Boy, and Fanny-anny was placed at her
disposal for a ride from Chamounix to Annecy, a lady's saddle being
easily picked up in a town of shops which miss no opportunities. As
for the Baron and Baronessa, it was plain to see the drift of their
minds. So angry were they at the change of programme, that it would
have been a satisfaction to quarrel with Gaeta, and leave her in a
huff. But their devotion to Paolo, which was almost pathetic, forbade
them this form of self-indulgence. They curbed their annoyance with
the bit of common-sense, though it galled their mouths, and consented
to drive to Annecy in a carriage provided by Gaeta for their
accommodation. They even constrained themselves to be civil to the Boy
and me, though their heavy politeness had the electrical quality of a
lull before a storm. How that storm would break I could not foresee,
but that it would presently burst above our heads I was sure.

There was no longer a question that Boy was hot favourite in the race
for Gaeta's smiles. There might have been betting on me for "place,"
but it would have been foolish to put money on my chances as winner.
The young wretch scarcely gave me a chance for a word with the
Contessa, for if