"We will wait, mademoiselle," said M. de Vilmorin, bowing gallantly
over the hand she extended to him. "Indeed, who would haste to the
uncle that may tarry a moment with the niece?"

"M. l'abbe," she teased him, "when you are in orders I shall take
you for my confessor. You have so ready and sympathetic an
understanding."

"But no curiosity," said Andre-Louis. "You haven't thought of that."

"I wonder what you mean, Cousin Andre."

"Well you may," laughed Philippe. "For no one ever knows." And
then, his glance straying across the terrace settled upon a carriage
that was drawn up before the door of the chateau. It was a vehicle
such as was often to be seen in the streets of a great city, but
rarely in the country. It was a beautifully sprung two-horse
cabriolet of walnut, with a varnish upon it like a sheet of glass
and little pastoral scenes exquisitely painted on the panels of the
door. It was built to carry two persons, with a box in front for
the coachman, and a stand behind for the footman. This stand was
empty, but the footman paced before the door, and as he emerged now
from behind the vehicle into the range of M. de Vilmorin's vision,
he displayed the resplendent blue-and-gold livery of the Marquis de
La Tour d'Azyr.

"Why!" he exclaimed. "Is it M. de La Tour d'Azyr who is with your
uncle?"