took the roses and placed them in water on the
table by her bedside. When she was ready to set out, she turned round,
raised the flowers to her lips and kissed them.

At the theatre she met him again and grew unaccountably nervous. It
needed all her power of will and all the prompter's aid to enable her to
retain the thread of her part. At times her mind would wander and she
would forget the words. Yet, to judge by the applause with which she was
rewarded, her acting did not suffer noticeably.

When the curtain fell, she complained that her head ached, and sent for
Raoul, and begged him to take her to walk by the sea, that the cool air
might restore her.

They walked down to the Rue Louise and left the violin and then strolled
on for half-an-hour by the water. Then they turned away to the Place St.
Amand. The square was deserted. A single lamp fluttered in the wind. The
stars shone brightly and the milky way stretched like a faint, pale
cloud high over the huge black mass of the cathedral.

She was leaning on his arm, and she made him pause a moment while she
stood to look up.

"If I were in pain," she said, after a moment, "or if a passion consumed
me, I should watch the stars all night. They are so cold and
passionless: they would teach me patience."

"You are beginning to talk poetry," he answered quietly, "and that shows
that you are tired out."

"Yes," she said, "I am tired out. To-morrow I shall be better, and we
will go to the woods."

Then she stood in the shadow of the hotel door and watched him until his
figure disappeared in the darkness.

VII.

The morning was bright and warm. The woods above Rocheville were brown
with autumn foliage, and the brambles were heavy with long sprays of
berries, red and black. Mademoiselle gave Raoul her cloak to carry, and
wandered here and there, gathering the ripest fruit. By-and-by she cast
away all she had gathered, and came to walk soberly beside him.

At St. Pierre, a little beyond the woods, they lunched merrily.

In the afternoon they strolled slowly back until they came to the brow
of the hill that rises to the west of Rocheville.

Overhead, white clouds floated in a clear blue sky. Below, the
purple-roofed houses huddled around the grey cathedral, and the distant
sea, flashing in the sunlight, broke against the yellow beach.

Beside the dusty hill path were rough seats. On one of these
Mademoiselle spread her cloak and rested, bidding Raoul sit on th