She had walked for over half an hour, and the first drops of rain had
begun to splash upon her bare head, when, to her great delight, she saw
the white front of a house among the trees.

With a joyful cry she broke into a run and, a moment later, came upon a
pebbled drive that led up to a low, picturesque structure, built on the
top of a gentle slope.

Lucile had that strange sensation which we all have experienced some time
in our lives, a distinct impression she was not looking upon the chateau
for the first time. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar, and it
was on the tip of her tongue to put her thoughts into words when she
dismissed the idea as absurd. Why, she had spent all of her life, up to
the last month at least, in Burleigh, so it was plainly ridiculous even
to imagine she knew the place. Many and many a time she had read
descriptions of French chateaux--ah, that was it! She must have read
about just such a place. But, in spite of all reasoning, the illusion
clung with startling persistency. In fact, the nearer she came to the
house, the more and more was she impressed with its familiarity.

She ran up to the porch just as the storm broke.

"Pretty good time," she smiled, as she lifted the old-fashioned knocker
on the big door and let it fall with a bang.

"Now, if I can't make whoever comes understand my French, and I haven't
very high hopes, then am I lost indeed."

But she had no time for further thought. The door opened quietly and a
soft voice inquired:

"Que voulez vous, Mam'selle?"

CHAPTER XXII

THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY

Lucile regarded the speaker soberly for a moment. She was a dainty,
pretty, bright-eyed little person, with a repose of manner that seemed,
somehow, out of keeping with her obvious youth. Lucile had understood the
softly spoken French question, but when she answered it was in the native
tongue.

"I do not understand French," she said, slowly. "I am an American."

"Ah, I, too, can speak the English," said the other, with a delightful
accent. "What is it I can do for you, Mam'selle?"

Lucile could have hugged her, so great was her joy at hearing her own
language spoken so unexpectedly.

"If you will just be good enough to let me stay here till the storm is
over," she said, "and tell me how to get to my friends, I will be very
much obliged."

"Ah, Mam'selle has lost her way," said the little French girl, nodding
her head quickly several times. "I know