ghed as he headed into
the current. How long I stood watching him as he drifted lazily in the
sun I know not, but at length the voice of Madame la Vicomtesse aroused
me.

"He is a pleasant person," she said.

CHAPTER VIII. AT LAMARQUE'S

Until then it seemed as if the sun had gotten into my brain and set it
on fire. Her words had the strange effect of clearing my head, though I
was still in as sad a predicament as ever I found myself. There was the
thing in my pocket, still wrapped in Polly Ann's handkerchief. I
glanced at the Vicomtesse shyly, and turned away again. Her face was all
repressed laughter, the expression I knew so well.

"I think we should feel better in the shade, Mr. Ritchie," she said
in English, and, leaping lightly down from the bank, crossed the road
again. I followed her, perforce.

"I will show you the way to Lamarque's," she said.

"Madame la Vicomtesse!" I cried.

Had she no curiosity? Was she going to let pass what Auguste had hinted?
Lifting up her skirts, she swung round and faced me. In her eyes was
a calmness more baffling than the light I had seen there but a moment
since. How to begin I knew not, and yet I was launched.

"Madame la Vicomtesse, there was once a certain miniature painted of
you."

"By Boze, Monsieur," she answered, readily enough. The embarrassment was
all on my side. "We spoke of it last evening. I remember well when
it was taken. It was the costume I wore at Chantilly, and Monsieur le
Prince complimented me, and the next day the painter himself came to our
hotel in the Rue de Bretagne and asked the honor of painting me." She
sighed. "Ah, those were happy days! Her Majesty was very angry with me."

"And why?" I asked, forgetful of my predicament.

"For sending it to Louisiana, to Antoinette."

"And why did you send it?"

"A whim," said the Vicomtesse. "I had always written twice a year either
to Monsieur de St. Gre or Antoinette, and although I had never seen
them, I loved them. Perhaps it was because they had the patience to read
my letters and the manners to say they liked them."

"Surely not, Madame," I said. "Monsieur de St. Gre spoke often to me of
the wonderful pictures you drew of the personages at court."

Madame la Vicomtesse had an answer on the tip of her tongue. I know now
that she spared me.

"And what of this miniature, Monsieur?" she asked. "What became of it
after you restored it to its rightful owner?"

I flushed furiously and fumb