mitted it, she had resumed her walk
towards the house. Hungrily I followed her graceful, lissom figure with
my eyes until she had crossed the threshold. Then, with a dull ache in
my breast, I flung myself upon a stone seat, and, addressing myself to
the setting sun for want of a better audience, I roundly cursed her sex
for the knottiest puzzle that had ever plagued the mind of man in the
unravelling.

CHAPTER XVII. FATHER AND SON

"Gaston," quoth Andrea next morning, "you will remain at Canaples until
to-morrow? You must, for to-morrow I am to be wed, and I would fain have
your good wishes ere you go."

"Nice hands, mine, to seek a benediction at," I grumbled.

"But you will remain? Come, Gaston, we have been good friends, you and
I, and who knows when next we shall meet? Believe me, I shall value your
'God speed' above all others."

"Likely enough, since it will be the only one you'll hear."

But for all my sneers he was not to be put off. He talked and coaxed so
winningly that in the end--albeit I am a man not easily turned from the
course he has set himself--the affectionate pleading in his fresh young
voice and the affectionate look in his dark eyes won me to his way.

Forthwith I went in quest of the Chevalier, whom, at the indication of a
lackey, I discovered in the room it pleased him to call his study--that
same room into which we had been ushered on the day of our arrival at
Canaples. I told him that on the morrow I must set out for Paris, and
albeit he at first expressed a polite regret, yet when I had shown him
how my honour was involved in my speedy return thither, he did not urge
me to put off my departure.

"It grieves me, sir, that you must go, and I deeply regret the motive
that is taking you. Yet I hope that his Eminence, in recognition of the
services you have rendered his nephew, will see fit to forget what cause
for resentment he may have against you, and render you your liberty. If
you will give me leave, Monsieur, I will write to his Eminence in this
strain, and you shall be the bearer of my letter."

I thanked him, with a smile of deprecation, as I thought of the true
cause of Mazarin's resentment, which was precisely that of the plea upon
which M. de Canaples sought to obtain for me my liberation.

"And now, Monsieur," he pursued nervously, "touching Andrea and his
visit here, I would say a word to you who are his friend, and may haply
know something of his mind. It is over tw