be none other than Yvonne de Canaples herself--"but, since this
gentleman so gallantly cedes his apartments to us, all our needs are
satisfied. It would be churlish to refuse that which is so graciously
proffered."

Her tone was cold in the extreme, as also was the inclination of her
head wherewith she favoured the Marquis. In arrant contrast were the
pretty words of thanks she addressed to Andrea, who stood by, blushing
like a girl, and a damnable scowl did this contrast draw from St. Auban,
a scowl that lasted until, escorted by the landlord, the two ladies had
withdrawn.

There was an awkward pause when they were gone, and methought from the
look on St. Auban's face that he was about to provoke a fight after all.
Not so, however, for, after staring at us like a clown whilst one might
tell a dozen, he turned and strode to the door, calling for his horse
and those of his companions.

"Au revoir, M. de Luynes," he said significantly as he got into the
saddle.

"Au revoir, M. de Luynes," said also Malpertuis, coming close up to me.
"We shall meet again, believe me."

"Pray God that we may not, if you would die in your bed," I answered
mockingly. "Adieu!"

CHAPTER VI. OF HOW ANDREA BECAME LOVE-SICK

With what fictions I could call to mind I put off Andrea's questions
touching the peculiar fashion of St. Auban's leave-taking. Tell him
the truth and expose to him the situation whereof he was himself the
unconscious centre I dared not, lest his high-spirited impetuosity
should cause him to take into his own hands the reins of the affair, and
thus drive himself into irreparable disaster.

Andrea himself showed scant concern, however, and was luckily content
with my hurriedly invented explanations; his thoughts had suddenly found
occupation in another and a gentler theme than the ill-humour of men,
and presently his tongue betrayed them when he drew the conversation to
the ladies to whom he had resigned his apartments.

"Pardieu! Gaston," he burst out, "she is a lovely maid--saw you ever a
bonnier?"

"Indeed she is very beautiful," I answered, laughing to myself at the
thought of how little he dreamt that it was of Yvonne St. Albaret de
Canaples that he spoke, and not minded for the while to enlighten him.

"If she be as kind and gentle as she is beautiful, Gaston, well--Uncle
Giulio's plans are likely to suffer shipwreck. I shall not leave
Choisy until I have spoken to her; in fact, I shall not leave unt