he started, like one awakening
from a happy dream, and hurriedly coiled the thick, soft tresses about
her head. Never before had she lingered so over a toilet, patting each
lock into place, twisting her head from side to side like a peacock
admiring its image.

Now she looked about hungrily for a touch of color and uttered a little
moan of vexation when she saw nothing, till her eyes, piercing through
the gloom of a dim corner, saw a spray of autumn leaves, long left
there and still stained with beauty. She fastened them at the breast
of her shirt, and so arrayed began to cook.

Never was there a merrier cook, not even some jolly French chef with a
heart made warm with good red wine, for she sang as she worked, and
whenever she had to cross the room it was with a dancing step. Spring
was in her blood, warm spring that loosens the muscles about the heart
and makes the eyes of girls dim and sets men smiling for no cause
except that they are living, and rejoicing with the whole awakening
world.

So it was with Jacqueline. Ever and anon as she leaned over the pans
and stirred the fire she raised her head and remained a moment
motionless, waiting for a sound, yearning to hear, and each time she
had to look down again with a sigh.

As it was, he took her by surprise, for he entered with the soft foot
of the hunted and remained an instant searching the room with a careful
glance. Not that he suspected, not that he had not relaxed his guard
and his vigilance the moment he caught sight of the flicker of light
through the mass of great boulders, but the lifelong habit of
watchfulness remained with him.

Even when he spoke face to face with a man, he never seemed to be
giving more than half his attention, for might not some one else
approach if he lost himself in order to listen to any one voice? He
had covered half the length of the room with that soundless step before
she heard, and rose with a glad cry: "Pierre!"

Meeting that calm blue eye, she checked herself mightily.

"A hard ride?" she asked.

"Nothing much."

He took the rock nearest the fire and then raised a glance of inquiry.

"I got cold," she said, "and rolled it over."

He considered her and then the rock, not with suspicion, but as if he
held the matter in abeyance for further consideration; a hunted man and
a hunter must keep an eye for little things, must carry an armed hand
and an armed heart even among friends. As for Jacqueline, her color