beautiful place.  We have fine beds and everything to eat, only we miss the bouillabaisse, and the jokes of M. Pidgeon, and the fine old claret.  A fat Englishwoman who waddles around like a big goose and who calls me Mumm (as if I were a wine-maker!) waits upon us.  We do not know the name of our host.  He is a tall man who says little and has hair on his neck and on the back of his hands.  Dieu! he is a lord who talks as if he were too lazy to breathe.  It is ‘Your Lordship this’ and ’Your Lordship that.’  But I must speak well of him, because he is going to read this letter:  it is on that condition I am permitted to write.  Therefore I say he is a great and good man, a beautiful man.  The baroness and Louise send love to all.  Madame says do not worry; we shall come out all right:  but I say worry! and, good man, do not cease to worry until we are safe home.  Tell the cure he has something to do now.  I have worn out my rosary, and am losing faith.  Tell him to try his.

  “Your affectionate
    “Louison.”

“She is an odd girl,” said the count, as I gave back the letter, “so full of fun, so happy, so bright, so quick—­always on her tiptoes.  Come, you are tired; you have ridden far in the dust.  I shall make you glad to be here.”

A groom took my horse, and the count led me down a wooded slope to the lakeside.  Octagonal water-houses, painted white, lay floating at anchor near us.  He rowed me to one of them for a bath.  Inside was a rug and a table and soap and linen.  A broad panel on a side of the floor came up as I pulled a cord, showing water clear and luminous to the sandy lake-bottom.  The glow of the noonday filled the lake to its shores, and in a moment I clove the sunlit depths—­a rare delight after my long, hot ride.

At luncheon we talked of the war, and he made much complaint of the Northern army, as did everybody those days.

“My boy,” said he, “you should join Perry on the second lake.  It is your only chance to fight, to win glory.”

He told me then of the impending battle and of Perry’s great need of men.  I had read of the sea-fighting and longed for a part in it.  To climb on hostile decks and fight hand to hand was a thing to my fancy.  Ah, well!  I was young then.  At the count’s table that day I determined to go, if I could get leave.

Therese and a young Parisienne, her friend, were at luncheon with us.  They bade us adieu and went away for a gallop as we took cigars.  We had no sooner left the dining room than I called for my horse.  Due at the Harbor that evening, I could give myself no longer to the fine hospitality of the count.  In a few moments I was bounding over the road, now cool in deep forest shadows.  A little way on I overtook Therese and the Parisienne.  The former called to me as I passed.  I drew rein, coming back and stopping beside her.  The other went on at a walk.