Through the thick foliage where I was concealed, I had a confused view of one wing of the chateau; the wall appeared to be covered with green tapestry torn in a thousand places.  I could distinguish nothing clearly at a distance of twenty yards.  Finally I saw approaching a graceful figure clad in white—­and through the trees I caught sight of a blue scarf—­a muslin dress and blue scarf—­nothing more, and yet my heart stood still!  My sensations at this moment are beyond analyzation.  I felt an emotion that a man in love will comprehend at once....  A muslin dress fluttering under the trees where the fountains ripple and the birds sing!  Is there a more thrilling sight?

I stood with one foot forward on the gravel-path, and with folded arms and bowed head I waited.  I saw the scarf fringe before seeing the face.  I looked up, and there stood before me a lovely woman ... but it was not Irene!...

It was Mad. de Lorgeville.  She knew me and I recognised her, having known her before her marriage.  She still possessed the beauty of her girlhood, and marriage had perfected her loveliness by adorning her with that fascinating grace that is wanting even in Raphael’s madonnas.

A peal of merry laughter rooted me to the spot and changed the current of my ideas.  The lady was seized with such a fit of gayety that she could scarcely speak, but managed to gasp out my name and title in broken syllables.  Like a great many men, I can stand much from women that I am not in love with....  I stood with arms crossed and hat off, waiting for an explanation of this foolish reception.  After several attempts, Mad. de Lorgeville succeeded in making her little speech.  After this storm of laughter there was still a ripple through which I could distinguish the following words, although I did not understand them:—­

“Excuse me, monsieur, ... but if you knew ... when you see ... but she must not see my foolish merriment, ... she cherishes the fancy that she is still young, ... like all women who are no longer so, ... give me your arm, ... we were at table ... we always keep a seat for a chance visitor ...  One does not often meet with an adventure like this except in novels....”

I made an effort to assume that calmness and boldness that saved my life the day I was made prisoner on the inhospitable coast of Borneo, and the old Arab king accused me of having attempted the traffic of gold dust—­a capital crime—­and said to the fair young chatelaine: 

“Madame, there is not much to amuse one in the country; gayety is a precious thing; it cannot be bought; happy is he who gives it.  I congratulate myself upon being able to present it to you.  Can you not give me back half of it, madame?”

“Yes, monsieur, come and take it yourself,” said Madame de Lorgeville; “but you must use it with discretion before witnesses.”

“I can assure you, madame, that I have not come to your chateau in search of gayety.  Allow me to escort you to the door and then retire.”