g arms swung the narrow-bladed paddle. Past marshes went the
painted canoes; they swam the singing shallows; they glided under
shading willow; they sped by wild grape-vine and spreading elm. The
stream was embroidered with a thousand grasses, dying daisies, paling
goldenrod, berry bushes, and wild-rose thorn. A thousand elusive
perfumes rose to greet them, a thousand changing scenes. October, in
all her gorgeous furbelows, sat upon her throne. The Chevalier never
uttered a word, but studied madame's half-turned cheek. Once he was
conscious that the color on that cheek deepened, then faded.

"It is the wind," he thought. "She is truly the most beautiful woman
in all the world; and fool that I am, I have vowed to her face that I
shall make her love me!" He could hear Victor's voice from time to
time, coming with the wind.

"Monsieur," madame said abruptly, when the silence Could no longer be
endured, "since you are here . . . Well, why do you not speak?"

The paddle turned so violently that the canoe came dangerously near
upsetting.

"What shall I say, Madame?"

"Eh! must I think for you?" impatiently.

The fact that her eye was not upon him, gave him a vestige of courage.
"It is a far cry from the galleries of the Louvre, Madame, to this
spot."

"We have gone back to the beginning of the world. No music save
Nicot's violin, which he plays sadly enough; no masks, no parties, no
galloping to the hunt, no languishing in the balconies. Were it not
pregnant with hidden dangers, I should love this land. I wonder who is
the latest celebrity at the old Rambouillet; a poet possibly, a
swashbuckler, more probably."

"Move back a little, Madame. We shall land on that stretch of sand by
the willows."

Madame did as he required, and with a dexterous stroke the Chevalier
sent the craft upon the beach and jumped out. This manoeuver to assist
her did not pass, for she was up and out almost as soon as he. In a
moment Victor came to the spot. The two canoes were hidden with a
cunning which the Chevalier had learned from the Indian.

Above them was a hill which was almost split in twain by a gorge or
gully, down through which a brook leaped and hounded and tumbled,
rolling its musical "r's." The four started up the long incline, the
women gathering the belated flowers and the men picking up curious
sticks or sending boulders hurtling down the hillside. Higher and
higher they mounted till the summit was reache