“Silence!” said Calvert, his white face filled with such sudden horror and disgust that Monsieur de St. Aulaire burst out laughing.

“A poor compliment to you, Madame,” he said to Adrienne.

At the words and the mocking laughter, Calvert’s wrath blazed up uncontrollably.  He went over to St. Aulaire, where he knelt on the basin, and, catching him again by the collar, shook him to and fro without mercy.

“Another word, sir, and I will toss you into this fountain with the hope that you break your head against the bottom!  And now, go!”

The water in the marble basin was not very deep, but St. Aulaire did not covet a ducking—­’twould be too good a theme for jests at his expense; and though he could still laugh and talk insolently, he felt weak and in no condition to prevent Calvert from carrying out his threat.  Retreat seemed to be all left to him.  With a sour smile he got upon his feet, and, making an elaborate courtesy to Madame de St. Andre, passed through the colonnade from the bosquet.

When he had quite disappeared, Calvert turned to the young girl.  She still stood by the bubbling fountain, pale between anger and fright, one hand yet pressed against her throat, the other clenched and hanging by her side.  At her feet the white rose lay crushed and unheeded.  As Calvert looked at the wilful, beautiful girl before him, he comprehended for the first time that he loved her—­loved and mistrusted her.  The shock of surprise that this cruel conviction brought with it held him rooted to the spot for an instant.  Love had ever been a vague dream to him, but certainly no woman could be further from his ideal than this brilliant, volatile, worldly creature.

A smile rippled over her face, to which the color was gradually returning.

“Well done, sir!  I am only sorry you did not drop him into the fountain, as you threatened.  ’Twould have been a light enough punishment, and, for once, we should have had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de St. Aulaire in something besides his customary immaculate attire!” and she laughed faintly.

As for Calvert, he could not reply to her light banter, but stood looking at her in silence.

“Well, sir, why do you look at me so?” demanded Adrienne, petulantly, after an instant.  “Have you nothing to say?  But, indeed, I know you have!  I can see you are dying to rebuke me for this indiscretion—­this stroll with Monsieur de St. Aulaire!” and she gave him a mutinous side glance and tapped the gravel with her satin slipper.  “One who dares express himself so frankly before the King will not hesitate to say his mind to a woman!”

“Ah, Madame, I fear, indeed, that you can never forgive me for having betrayed my republican sentiments so freely in the presence of your monarch—­unconscious though I was of doing so.”

“Oh, no, Monsieur, you mistake,” said Adrienne, maliciously.  “I can forgive you for having betrayed your republican sentiments, but I can never forgive the King for not having properly rebuked them!”