I declare, as my deliberate opinion, that there is nothing more dangerous
than for a man almost to forget a lady who has shown him favor. If he can
quite forget her--and will be so unromantic--why, let him, and perhaps
small harm done. But almost--That leaves him at the mercy of every
generous self-reproach. He is ready to do anything to prove that she was
every second in his memory.

I began to retrace my steps toward the _château_.

"I shall get the sack over this!" called Jean.

"You shall come to no harm by that, if you do," I assured him.

But hardly had I--my virtuous pride now completely smothered by my tender
remorse--started on my ill-considered return journey, when, just as had
happened to Gustave de Berensac and myself the evening before, a slim
figure ran down from the bank by the roadside. It was the duchess. The
short cut had served her. She was hardly out of breath this time; and she
appeared composed and in good spirits.

"I thought for a moment you'd forgotten me, but I knew you wouldn't do
that, Mr. Aycon."

Could I resist such trust?

"Forget you, madame?" I cried. "I would as soon forget--"

"So I knew you'd wait for me."

"Here I am, waiting faithfully," said I.