little fete among them in the garden. In effect, it was the fete day of
my daughter, the little cherished and protected of Madame Taunton.

He was so gracious and so frank that Monsieur le Capitaine Richard
Doubledick could not withhold his hand. "It is the hand of a brave
Englishman," said the French officer, retaining it while he spoke. "I
could respect a brave Englishman, even as my foe, how much more as my
friend! I also am a soldier."

"He has not remembered me, as I have remembered him; he did not take such
note of my face, that day, as I took of his," thought Captain Richard
Doubledick. "How shall I tell him?"

The French officer conducted his guest into a garden and presented him to
his wife, an engaging and beautiful woman, sitting with Mrs. Taunton in a
whimsical old-fashioned pavilion. His daughter, her fair young face
beaming with joy, came running to embrace him; and there was a boy-baby
to tumble down among the orange trees on the broad steps, in making for
his father's legs. A multitude of children visitors were dancing to
sprightly music; and all the servants and peasants about the chateau were
dancing too. It was a scene of innocent happiness that might have been
invented for the climax of the scenes of peace which had soothed the
Captain's journey.

He looked on, greatly troubled in his mind, until a resounding bell rang,
and the French officer begged to show him his rooms. They went upstairs
into the gallery from which the officer had looked down; and Monsieur le
Capitaine Richard Doubledick was cordially welcomed to a grand outer
chamber, and a smaller one within, all clocks and draperies, and hearths,
and brazen dogs, and tiles, and cool devices, and elegance, and vastness.