your glimpse at this man, Marquis, are you desirous to see more of
him?"

"My friend," answered the Frenchman, with a quick gesture,
descriptive of a sudden emotion not yet stilled, "he took my breath
away. I can think of nothing else. My poor brain is buzzing still,
and I know not what answers I made to that pretty English girl. Ah!
You smile at my enthusiasm; you do not know what it is to have a
great hope dangling before the eyes all one's life. And that face--
that face!"

In which judgment the Marquis was no doubt right. For Dormer
Colville was too universal a man to be capable of concentrated zeal
upon any one object. He laughed at the accusation.

"After dinner," he answered, "I will tell you the little story as it
was told to me. We can sit on this seat, outside the inn, in the
scent of the flowers and smoke our cigarette."

To which proposal Monsieur de Gemosac assented readily enough. For
he was an old man, and to such the importance of small things, such
as dinner or a passing personal comfort, are apt to be paramount.
Moreover, he was a remnant of that class to which France owed her
downfall among the nations; a class represented faithfully enough by
its King, Louis XVI., who procrastinated even on the steps of the
guillotine.

The wind went down with the sun, as had been foretold by River
Andrew, and the quiet of twilight lay on the level landscape like
sleep when the two travellers returned to the seat at the inn door.