the Inn porch. Then he slipped, smiling mischievously, under the doorway
of the Inn, and waited upon events. In a moment the window was opened,
and Gabrielle looked out. "Is that you, Henri?" she asked, softly.

Instantly Chavernay emerged from his hiding-place, and stood bareheaded
and bending almost double before the beautiful girl. "It was I," he said,
with a manner of airy deference.

Gabrielle drew back a little. "You? Who are you?" she asked, astonished.

Chavernay again made her a reverence. "Your slave," he asserted.

Gabrielle remembered him now, and looked annoyed. "Sir!" she said,
angrily.

Chavernay saw her anger, but was not dismayed. He was familiar with the
feigned rages of pretty country girls when it pleased great lords to make
love to them. "Listen to me," he pleaded. "Ever since I first saw you I
have adored you."

He meant to say more, but he was not given the time in which to say it,
for Lagardere came forth from his shelter beside the caravan and
interrupted him. At the sight of Lagardere, Gabrielle gave a little cry
and closed the window. Lagardere advanced to Chavernay, who stared in
astonishment at the presumption of the gypsy fellow--a gypsy fellow that
carried a sword under his mantle.

"That young girl is under my care, little gentleman," Lagardere said,
mockingly.

But Chavernay was not easily to be dashed from his habitual manner of
genial insolence, and he answered, as mockingly as Lagardere: "Then I
tell you what I told her: that I adore her."

Lagardere eyed him whimsically, grimly. He felt disagreeably conscious of
the contrast between himself in his shabby habit and the gilded frippery
of this brilliant young insolence. He speculated with melancholy as to
the effect of this contrast on the young girl that witnessed it. "You
imp, you deserve to be whipped!" he said, sharply.

Chavernay stared at him with eyes wide with astonishment, and explained
himself, haughtily: "I am the Marquis de Chavernay, cousin of the Prince
de Gonzague."

Lagardere changed his phrase: "Then you come of a bad house, and deserve
to be hanged!"

In a second the little marquis dropped his daffing manner. "If you were a
gentleman, sir," he cried, "and had a right to the sword you presume to
carry, I would make you back your words!"

Lagardere smiled ironically. "If it eases your mind in any way," he said,
quietly, "I can assure you that I am a gentleman, although a poor one,
and have as good righ