r whisked the moon out of the skies."

She was laughing again.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "What fervor! Can this be my Mr. Bayne, the
Mr. Bayne of our adventure, who never turned a hair no matter what mad
things happened, and who was always so correct and conventional and so
immaculately dressed, and so--"

"Stodgy! Say it!" I cried with utter recklessness. "I know I was; Dunny
told me so that evening at the St. Ives. Have as many cracks at me as
you like. I was getting fat; I was beginning to think that the most
important thing in the universe was dinner. Well, I'm not stodgy any
longer, Esme Falconer; you've reformed me. But of all the men in all the
ages who were ever desperately, consumedly, imbecilely in love--"

In the distance two figures were strolling toward the blue car, the duke
and the duchess. When they reached it, the Firefly cast a glance in our
direction and sounded a warning, most unwelcome honk upon the horn. They
were going, stony-hearted creatures that they were! They were taking
Esme back to Paris. At the thought I abandoned my last pretense at
self-command.

"Esme, dearest," I implored, "do you think you could put up with
me? Could you marry me when I've done my part over here--or even
sooner--right away? A dozen better men may love you, but mine is a
special brand of love--unique, incomparable! Are you going to have
me--or shall I jump into the lake?"

The sunset light was in her hair and in the gray, starry eyes she turned
to me--those eyes that, because their lashes were so long and crinkled
so maddeningly, were only half revealed. Her lips curved in a fleeting
smile.

"Oh, you dear, blind, silly man! Do you think any girl could help loving
you--after all that has happened to you and me?" she whispered.

Then I caught her to me; and despite my crutches and my bandaged head
and that atrocious horn in the distance honking the signal for our
parting, I was the happiest being in France--or in the world.

"I knew all along it was a dream, and it is! Such things don't really
happen. No such luck!" I cried.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Firefly Of France, by Marion Polk Angellotti

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE ***

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