St. Gre sends his compliments, and wishes to know if you
will pardon his absence this morning. He is going to escort Antoinette
and me over to see some of my prospective cousins, the Bertrands." He
made a face, and bent nearer to my ear. "I swear to you I have not
had one moment alone with her. We have been for a walk, but Madame la
Vicomtesse must needs intrude herself upon us. Egad, I told her plainly
what I thought of her tyranny."

"And what did she say?" I asked, trying to smile.

"She laughed, and said that I belonged to a young nation which had done
much harm in the world to everybody but themselves. Faith, if I wasn't
in love with Antoinette, I believe I'd be in love with her."

"I have no doubt of it," I answered.

"The Vicomtesse is as handsome as a queen this morning," he continued,
paying no heed to this remark. "She has on a linen dress that puzzles
me. It was made to walk among the trees and flowers, it is as simple as
you please; and yet it has a distinction that makes you stare."

"You seem to have stared," I answered. "Since when did you take such
interest in gowns?"

"Bless you, it was Antoinette. I never should have known," said he.
"Antoinette had never before seen the gown, and she asked the Vicomtesse
where she got the pattern. The Vicomtesse said that the gown had been
made by Leonard, a court dressmaker, and it was of the fashion the Queen
had set to wear in the gardens of the Trianon when simplicity became the
craze. Antoinette is to have it copied, so she says."

Which proved that Antoinette was human, after all, and happy once more.

"Hang it," said Nick, "she paid more attention to that gown than to me.
Good-by, Davy. Obey the--the Colonel."

"Is--is not the Vicomtesse going with you?" I asked

"No, I'm sorry for you," he called back from the gallery.

He had need to be, for I fell into as great a fright as ever I had had
in my life. Monsieur de St. Gre knocked at the door and startled me out
of my wits. Hearing that I was awake, he had come in person to make his
excuses for leaving me that morning.

"Bon Dieu!" he said, looking at me, "the country has done you good
already. Behold a marvel! Au revoir, David."

I heard the horses being brought around, and laughter and voices. How
easily I distinguished hers! Then I heard the hoof-beats on the soft
dirt of the drive. Then silence,--the silence of a summer morning which
is all myriad sweet sounds. Then Lindy appeared, starched an