I am a good swimmer, however, and with a little trouble I managed to rescue the dog.

“What madness!” she murmured.  “You might have been drowned, and just for a dog!”

“It was yours,” I answered in a low voice.

Her manner at once changed.

“You had better run home, Monsieur Odiot,” she said very coldly, “or you will get a chill.  Do not wait for me.”

So I returned alone, and for some days Marguerite never spoke a word to me.  What was still worse, M. Bevallan appeared at the castle, and she went for walks with him, leaving me in the company of Mlle. Helouin.  I am afraid that I became very friendly with the pretty governess.  Nothing, however, that I ever said to her, or that she said to me, prepared me for the strange scene that happened to-night.  As I was walking along the terrace, she came up and took my arm, and said, “Are you really my friend, Maxime?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then tell me the truth,” she exclaimed.  “Do you love me, or do you love Mademoiselle Marguerite?”

“Why do you bring in her name?” I said.

“Ah, you love her!” she cried fiercely; “or, rather, you love her fortune.  But you shall never have it, Monsieur de Champcey.  I know why you came here under a false name, and so shall she.”

With a movement of anger she departed.  I cannot continue here under suspicion of being a fortune-hunter, so I have written to Laubepin to obtain another situation for me.

III.—­Two on a Tower

It is all over.  Was it because she still only half believed the slanders spread against me that Marguerite again asked me to go for a walk with her?  Oh, what an unfortunate wretch I am!  We rode through the forest together to one of the most magnificent monuments in Brittany, the Castle of Elven.  Finding the door unlocked, we tethered our horses in the deserted courtyard, and climbed up the narrow, winding staircase to the battlements.  The sea of autumnal foliage below was bathed in the light of the setting sun, and for a long time we sat side by side in silence, gazing at the infinite distances.

“Come!” she said at last, in a low whisper, as the light died out of the sky.  “It is finished!”

But on descending the dark staircase we found that the door of the keep was locked.  No doubt the shepherd boy who looked after the castle had come and shut up the place while we were sitting, watching the sunset.

“Monsieur de Champcey,” she said, in a cold, hard voice, “were there any scoundrels in your family before you?”

“Marguerite!” I cried.

“You paid that boy to lock us in,” she exclaimed.  “You think you will force me to marry you by compromising me in this manner.  Do you think you will win my hand—­and, what is more important to you still, my wretched wealth—­by this trick?  Rather than marry a scoundrel like you, I will shut myself up in a convent!”