eemed keenest, her
vitality fiercest, her action most animated, when her eyes were shining
their brightest, her lips smiling their sweetest, and her castanets
clicking their loudest, she suddenly became rigid, with arms extended,
like one struck motionless by a catalepsy, her face robbed of all
expression, her limbs stiff, her arms extended. She stood so for a few
seconds, then a smile rippled over her face, her arms dropped to her
sides, and she seemed to swoon towards the ground in a surrendering
courtesy. The dance was at an end.

The delighted gentlemen applauded enthusiastically. All would have been
eager to seek closer acquaintance with the gypsy, but all refrained
because Gonzague himself rose from his seat and advanced towards the
girl, who watched him, respectful and excited, with lowered lids.

Gonzague laid his hand on her shoulder with a caress that was almost
paternal while he spoke: "I know more about you than you know yourself,
child. Go back now. I have long been looking for you."

Flora could scarcely find breath to stammer: "For me?" She ventured to
look up into the face of this grave and courtly gentleman, and she found
something very attractive in the dark eyes that were fixed upon her with
a look of so much benevolence. Gonzague pointed to Peyrolles, who was
standing a little apart from the group of gentlemen.

"Peyrolles will come for you presently," he said. "Peyrolles will tell
you what to do. Obey him implicitly."

Flora made him another courtesy. "Yes, monseigneur," she faltered, and,
turning, ran swiftly to the caravan and disappeared within its depths.
Each of the young gentlemen gladly would have followed her, but, as
before, they were restrained by the action of Gonzague, who seemed to
have taken the girl under his protection, and no one of them was
foolhardy enough to dream of crossing Gonzague in a pleasure or a
caprice.

But during the progress of the dance there had been an addition to the
little group of gentlemen. Chavernay had come over the bridge, with,
curiously enough, Cocardasse and Passepoil at his heels. When he saw that
a dance was toward, he made a sign to his followers to remain upon the
bridge, while he himself mingled with his habitual companions. When the
dance was over and Flora had disappeared, Chavernay advanced to Gonzague.
He, at least, was foolhardy enough for anything. "I give you my word,
cousin," he said, "that I have already lost the half of my heart to yo