they continued to ride, keeping up their argument. Half a dozen other
gallants rode in advance, muttering among themselves, or attended laxly
upon Lady Mary's aunt on the other side of the coach, while the happy
Frenchman was permitted to ride close to that adorable window which
framed the fairest face in England.

He sang for her a little French song, a song of the voyageur who dreamed
of home. The lady, listening, looking up at the bright moon, felt a warm
drop upon her cheek, and he saw the tears sparkling upon her lashes.

"Mademoiselle," he whispered then, "I, too, have been a wanderer, but my
dreams were not of France; no, I do not dream of that home, of that dear
country. It is of a dearer country, a dream country--a country of gold
and snow," he cried softly, looking it her white brow and the fair,
lightly powdered hair above it. "Gold and snow, and the blue sky of a
lady's eyes!"

"I had thought the ladies of France were dark, sir.

"Cruel! It is that she will not understan'! Have I speak of the ladies
of France? No, no, no! It is of the faires' country; yes, 'tis a
province of heaven, mademoiselle. Do I not renounce my allegiance to
France? Oh, yes! I am subjec'--no, content to be slave--in the lan' of
the blue sky, the gold, and the snow.

"A very pretty figure," answered Lady Mary, her eyes downcast. "But does
it not hint a notable experience in the making of such speeches?"

"Tormentress! No. It prove only the inspiration it is to know you."