easonable is my anxiety?"

"Assuredly."

"And you are in sympathy with me?"

"Pardieu! Why else did I go so near to killing your son?"

"True," he mused. Then suddenly he added, "Apropos, have you heard that
Eugene has become one of the leaders of these frondeur madmen?"

"Ah! Then he is quite recovered?"

"Unfortunately," he assented with a grimace, and thus our interview
ended.

That day wore slowly to its close. I wandered hither and thither in the
chateau and the grounds, hungering throughout the long hours for a word
with Mademoiselle--a glimpse of her, at least.

But all day long she kept her chamber, the pretext being that she was
beset by a migraine. By accident I came upon her that evening, at last,
in the salon; yet my advent was the signal for her departure, and all
the words she had for me were:

"Still at Canaples, Monsieur? I thought you were to have left this
morning." She looked paler than her wont, and her eyes were somewhat
red.

"I am remaining until to-morrow," said I awkwardly.

"Vraiement!" was all she answered, and she was gone.

Next morning the Chevalier and I breakfasted alone. Mademoiselle's
migraine was worse. Genevieve was nursing, so her maid brought
word--whilst Andrea had gone out an hour before and had not returned.

The Chevalier shot me an apologetic glance across the board.

"'T is a poor 'God speed' to you, M. de Luynes."

I made light of it and turned the conversation into an indifferent
channel, wherein it abided until, filling himself a bumper of Anjou, the
Chevalier solemnly drank to my safe journey and good fortune in Paris.

At that moment Andrea entered by the door abutting on the terrace
balcony. He was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a joyous fever.
Profuse was he in his apologies, which, howbeit, were passing vague
in character, and which he brought to a close by pledging me as the
Chevalier had done already.

As we rose, Genevieve appeared with the news that Yvonne was somewhat
better, adding that she had come to take leave of me. Her composure
surprised me gladly, for albeit in her eyes there was also a telltale
light, the lids, demurely downcast as was her wont, amply screened it
from the vulgar gaze.

Andrea would tell his father-in-law of the marriage later in the day;
and for all I am not a chicken-hearted man, still I had no stomach to be
at hand when the storm broke.

The moment having come for my departure, and Michelot awaiting me
alre