“If—­if it tells a pretty story with some love in it,” I said, with a quick sense of caution.  “Ah, ma’m’selle, do I not know what has made your lips so red?”

“What may it be?”

“The attrition of many secrets—­burning secrets,” I said, laughing.

“Mordieu! what charming impudence!” said she, her large eyes glowing thoughtfully, with some look of surprise.  “You do not know me, m’sieur.  I have kept many secrets and know the trick.”

“Ah, then I shall ask of you a great favor,” said I—­“that you keep my secret also, that you do not tell her of my love.”

She wheeled her horse with a merry peal of laughter, hiding her face, now red as her glove.

“It is too late,” said she, “I have written her.”

We rode on, laughing.  In spite of the serious character of her words, I fell a-quaking from crown to stirrup.  I was now engaged to Louison, or as good as that, and, being a man of honor, I must think no more of her sister.

“I wrote her of your confession,” said she, “for I knew it would make her so happy; but, you know, I did not tell of—­of the circumstances.”

“Well, it will make it all the easier for me,” I said.  “Ma’m’selle, I assure you—­I am not sorry.”

“And, my friend, you are lucky:  she is so magnificent.”

“Her face will be a study when I tell her.”

“The splendor of it!” said she.

“And the surprise,” I added, laughing.

“Ah, m’sieur, she will play her part well.  She is clever.  That moment when the true love comes and claims her it is the sweetest in a woman’s life.”

A thought came flying through my brain with the sting of an arrow.

“She must not be deceived.  I have not any noble blood in me.  I am only the son of a soldier-farmer, and have my fortune to make,” said I, quickly.

“That is only a little folly,” she answered, laughing.  “Whether you be rich or poor, prince or peasant, she cares not a snap of her finger.  Ciel! is she not a republican, has she not money enough?”

“Nevertheless, I beg you to say, in your letter, that I have nothing but my sword and my honor.”

As we rode along I noted in my book the place and time we were to meet the captives.  The marquis joined us at the Hermitage, where a stable-boy watered our horses.  Three servants were still there, the others being now in the count’s service.

If any place give me a day’s happiness it is dear to me, and the where I find love is forever sacred.  I like to stand where I stood thinking of it, and there I see that those dear moments are as much a part of me as of history.  So while Therese and the marquis got off their horses for a little parley with the gardener, I cantered up the north trail to where I sat awhile that delightful summer day with Louise.  The grotto had now a lattice roofing of bare branches.  Leaves, as red as her blush, as golden as my memories, came rattling through it, falling with a faint rustle.  The big woods were as a gloomy and deserted mansion, with the lonely cry of the wind above and a ghostly rustle within where had been love and song and laughter and all delight.