hing.
This time, it seems that one of Father Anton's protegees has run away
from him; and, as you saw, the cure is beside himself." Again the
shoulders lifted "But you, Jean"--infusing a sudden note of perturbed
anxiety into her voice--"are you sure you were wise in coming out
to-night? What brought you?"

And then Jean threw back his head, and laughed, and closed the
door--and caught her in his arms.

"_Mon Dieu_!" he cried, holding her close to him, and trying to kiss
the suddenly averted face. "Do you ask what brought me? Well, then, I
will tell you! Did you not say that you would come this afternoon, and
did you not promise that we would settle about our marriage? And you
did not come, and all the afternoon I was waiting, and now"--his face
fell a little, as she slipped away from him--"and now that I am here
you run away from me."

"You are too impulsive, Jean! You are destruction on gowns!" she
laughed, and backed merrily away from him to sink down gracefully in a
chair.

"Gowns!" he echoed, a sudden flush of anger coming to his cheeks, as he
followed her. "What does it matter, a gown, when--"

"Now, don't be cross!" she commanded teasingly; and, gaily regal,
extended her hand. "See, here is my hand to kiss."

He hesitated; and then, as, a little sullenly, he bent and touched her
fingers with his lips, she laughed again. She loved to excite and
watch moods in Jean--as now for instance, when the tall, strong figure
was drawn up haughtily, and the emotions, that he would never learn to
hide, were so apparent in his face, as he bit his lips and pulled at
his short, pointed beard. Jean was as readable as a book at all times,
and always would be--which was not a bad trait for a husband to
possess! And this was Jean Laparde, the man of genius, unquestionably
at that moment the most famous man in France! She smiled at him
through half veiled eyes. To be Madame Laparde! Socially, it meant an
incomparable triumph; intimately, it meant--well, at least, it was
obvious enough that the marriage need hold no terror of tyranny in
store for her! Jean, for all his greatness, and save for his
occasional passionate outbursts, was as plastic as his own clay. Her
eyelids lifted, and in the grey eyes was laughter.

"Well, and why the brown study? What are you thinking about?" she
demanded pertly.

"I was thinking of Paul Valmain," he answered abruptly.

"Paul Valmain!" she repeated--and sat suddenly upright