ieur!" said Adrienne, rising in some agitation. "This
conversation is painful to me and I know must be to you. Had I guessed
what you had to say, I would have spared you."

"No," returned Calvert, grimly, a wave of crimson suddenly spreading
over his pale face ('twas the only sign he gave of the anger and pain
gnawing at his heart), "you would have had to listen. I came to
Azay-le-Roi to tell you that I love you. Do you think I would have gone
away without speaking?"

Adrienne regarded him in haughty amazement.

"At least you will do me the favor never to refer to this again?"

"You may rest assured, Madame, that I shall never annoy you again." He
spoke as haughtily as she, for he was bitterly hurt, and he was young
enough to feel a fierce pride in the thought that he, too, would have
done with this love which she had so lightly disdained.

He sank down upon the bench and covered his face with his hands. A
sudden spasm of coquetry seized the young girl.

"Then, in case I should ever change my mind, as women have been known
to do since time immemorial, Monsieur, _I_ shall have to ask you to
marry me!" she said, laughing lightly.

Calvert raised his head wearily. His face looked as though a dozen years
had left their mark upon it since he entered the little allee of elms;
there were fine lines of pain about the mouth and a curious, listless
look in his usually serene eyes.

"After this morning I cannot believe that you will ever change your
mind," he said, rising as he spoke. "But be assured that whatever may
happen I shall never forget your command and offend again. And now, as I
shall not see you again before we leave, I bid you farewell, Madame." He
pressed the hand which Adrienne held out to his pale lips, and then
holding it for an instant in both of his, turned quickly and left the
allee.

Madame de St. Andre looked after the clean-limbed, athletic young figure
as it disappeared rapidly through the trees. And suddenly a keen regret
for what she had done swept over her. Did she love him, then, that she
should wish him back? She sank upon the bench with a beating heart. She
would have called out to him, have brought him back to her side, but
that her pride held her in check.

"What insolence!" she said, half-starting up. "And yet--and yet--'tis
more to my liking than fine phrases! And it was true--what he said--had
he been Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency or Monsieur de Villeroi--! At
least I shall see him a