was set at naught by the events which followed.

Gustave rolled down the hill, the duchess sighed relief.

"Now," said she, "we can enjoy ourselves fora few hours, Mr. Aycon. And
after that--solitude!"

I was really very sorry for the duchess. Evidently society and gayety were
necessary as food and air to her, and her churl of a husband denied them.
My opportunity was short, but I laid myself out to make the most of it. I
could give her nothing more than a pleasant memory, but I determined to do
that.

We spent the greater part of the day in a ramble through the woods that
lined the slopes of the hill behind the house; and all through the hours
the duchess chatted about herself, her life, her family--and then about
the duke. If the hints she gave were to be trusted, her husband deserved
little consideration at her hands, and, at the worst, the plea of reprisal
might offer some excuse for her, if she had need of one. But she denied
the need, and here I was inclined to credit her. For with me, as with
Gustave de Berensac before the shadow of Lady Cynthia came between, she
was, most distinctly, a "good comrade." Sentiment made no appearance in
our conversation, and, as the day ruthlessly wore on, I regretted honestly
that I must go in deference to a conventionality which seemed, in this
case at least--Heaven forbid that I should indulge in general theories--to
mask no reality. Yet she was delightful by virtue of the vitality in her;
and the woods echoed again and again with our laughter.

At four o'clock we returned sadly to the house, where the merry girls
busied themselves in preparing a repast for me. The duchess insisted on