the arbor."

As soon as she had received a most gracious permission, Joyce began to
make a little plan. It troubled her conscience somewhat, for she felt
that she ought to mention it to madame, but she was almost certain that
madame would object, and she had set her heart on carrying it out.

"I won't speak about it now," she said to herself, "because I am not
_sure_ that I am going to do it. Mamma would think it was all right,
but foreigners are so queer about some things."

Uncertain as Joyce may have been about her future actions, as they drove
towards town, no sooner had madame and monsieur stepped from the
carriage, on the Rue Nationale, than she was perfectly sure.

"Stop at the baker's, Gabriel," she ordered as they turned homeward,
then at the big grocery on the corner. "Cousin Kate told me to treat
myself to something nice," she said apologetically to her conscience, as
she gave up the twenty francs to the clerk to be changed.

If Gabriel wondered what was in the little parcels which she brought
back to the carriage, he made no sign. He only touched his hat
respectfully, as she gave the next order: "Stop where the road turns by
the cemetery, Gabriel; at the house with the steps going up to an
iron-barred gate. I'll be back in two or three minutes," she said, when
she had reached it, and climbed from the carriage.

To his surprise, instead of entering the gate, she hurried on past it,
around the bend in the road. In a little while she came running back,
her shoes covered with damp earth, as if she had been walking in a