onless, she at length jumped down to the grass, stood a
while, and came slowly across the meadow. When she took up her position
by a tree about ten paces from the bench, M. Fanjat spoke to the colonel
in a low voice.

"Feel in my pocket for some lumps of sugar," he said, "and let her see
them, she will come; I willingly give up to you the pleasure of giving
her sweetmeats. She is passionately fond of sugar, and by that means you
will accustom her to come to you and to know you."

"She never cared for sweet things when she was a woman," Philip answered
sadly.

When he held out the lump of sugar between his thumb and finger, and
shook it, Stephanie uttered the wild note again, and sprang quickly
towards him; then she stopped short, there was a conflict between
longing for the sweet morsel and instinctive fear of him; she looked at
the sugar, turned her head away, and looked again like an unfortunate
dog forbidden to touch some scrap of food, while his master slowly
recites the greater part of the alphabet until he reaches the letter
that gives permission. At length the animal appetite conquered fear;
Stephanie rushed to Philip, held out a dainty brown hand to pounce upon
the coveted morsel, touched her lover's fingers, snatched the piece of
sugar, and vanished with it into a thicket. This painful scene was
too much for the colonel; he burst into tears, and took refuge in the
drawing-room.

"Then has love less courage than affection?" M. Fanjat asked him. "I
have hope, Monsieur le Baron. My poor niece was once in a far more
pitiable state than at present."

"Is it possible?" cried Philip.

"She would not wear clothes," answered the doctor.

The colonel shuddered, and his face grew pale. To the doctor's mind this
pallor was an unhealthy symptom; he went over to him and felt his pulse.
M. de Sucy was in a high fever; by dint of persuasion, he succeeded in
putting the patient in bed, and gave him a few drops of laudanum to gain
repose and sleep.

The Baron de Sucy spent nearly a week, in a constant struggle with a
deadly anguish, and before long he had no tears left to shed. He was
often well-nigh heartbroken; he could not grow accustomed to the sight
of the Countess' madness; but he made terms for himself, as it were, in
this cruel position, and sought alleviations in his pain. His heroism
was boundless. He found courage to overcome Stephanie's wild shyness
by choosing sweetmeats for her, and devoted all his though