She broke a tiny bough and began stripping its leaves.

"Tell me, do you love the baroness?" she inquired as she whipped a
swaying bush of brier.

The question amazed me. I laughed nervously.

"I respect, I admire the good woman--she would make an excellent
mother," was my answer.

"Well spoken!" she said, clapping her hands. "I thought you were a
fool. I did not know whether you were to blame or--or the Creator."

"Or the baroness," I added, laughing.

"Well," said she, with a pretty shrug, "is there not a man for
every woman? The baroness she thinks she is irresistible. She has
money. She would like to buy you for a plaything--to marry you.
But I say beware. She is more terrible than the keeper of the
Bastile. And you--you are too young!"

"My dear girl," said I, in a voice of pleading, "it is terrible.
Save me! Save me, I pray you!"

"Pooh! I do not care!"--with a gesture of indifference, "I am
trying to save myself, that is all."

"From what?"

"Another relative. Parbleu! I have enough." She stamped her foot