heart."

Then, deftly, and before he could determine what her supple arms and
nimble brown fingers were about, she had disengaged the lily from her
hair, and pinned it upon her bosom.

"There now, Monsieur, is it in the right place?" and she looked at
him with a glance exhibiting the most curious commingling of naivete
and coquetry.

"I cannot answer. I do not think that you understand me yet. If the
act of saving you from drowning were to determine the place you
should wear the rose, then the head, as you first chose, was the
proper spot. Do you know what the word Love means?"

"O, I could guess, perhaps, if I don't know. I have heard a good
deal about it, and Violette, who is fond of a young Frenchman, has
explained it so fully to me, that I think I know. Yes, Monsieur, I
_do_ know."

"Well, you little rogue, it takes one a long time to find out
whether you do or not. In fact I am not quite satisfied on the point.
However, let me suppose that you do know what love is; the all-consuming
sort; the kind that sighs like the furnace. Well, supposing
that a flower is worn over the heart only to express love of this
sort, where would you, with full knowledge of this fact, have pinned
the blossom that I plucked for you this morning?"

"Since I do not understand the meaning of the word love with very
great clearness,--I think Monsieur has expressed the doubt that I do