himself talk; she could think her own thoughts, could even be depressed without the Abbe noticing the fact.  His companionship enabled her to escape from the other guests for a while without any apparent effort on her part to withdraw herself from the daily routine.  She took her place in the evening amusements, occupied a seat at one of the card tables, danced and smiled, met wit with wit, and was envied by some who were not so sure of the coming Saturday as mademoiselle must surely be.

In her walks Jeanne’s eyes wandered along the top of the high garden walls.  Richard Barrington might come that way, or at least give her a sign that way; and when she could be alone without raising comment she watched from her window which overlooked the garden.

So the Monday and the Tuesday passed, and Wednesday dawned.  How fast the week was passing!  Her letter to Richard Barrington had been very urgent.  She had told him all about this house, the purpose for which it was used, how the garden stood in regard to it.  She had explained the general routine, had given the names of the guests.  If he was to help her the fullest information would be of use.  There might be some point in her description of which he could take advantage.  This was Wednesday, and he had made no sign.  Surely he had never got the letter.

Had not the Abbe been so fond of hearing the sound of his own voice, had he not been so used to his brilliant listener, he must surely have noted that Jeanne was not herself to-day as they walked in the garden.

“There is a new arrival I hear, mademoiselle.”

“Indeed.  I thought every room was occupied.”

“Ah, mademoiselle, I fear there must be some one who is not able to pay next Saturday.  I have often noticed that new arrivals have come a day or two before the time, putting up with anything until the room was left vacant for them on Saturday.”

“I wonder who is going,” said Jeanne.

“It is a pity we cannot pick and choose,” the Abbe returned.  “There are one or two in the company we could well dispense with.”

Jeanne’s eyes flashed at his callousness, but he did not notice.

“There are some here that Legrand ought not to have taken,” the Abbe went on.

“But they pay.”

“Ah, mademoiselle, you have hit it.  They pay, and this fellow Legrand is satisfied.  He has no sense of the fitness of things, yet this house has the name of being exclusive.”

“I am sorry for those who go, whoever they may be,” said Jeanne.

“It is natural.  I am not unsympathetic; but since some one must go it seems a pity we cannot choose.”

“Is it a man or woman who has come?”

“A man; his name the Marquis de Castellux.  If my memory serves me, it is a Breton name, a good family, but one which has not figured largely at Court.”

“He should be an acquisition,” said Jeanne.

“I hope so, mademoiselle.  We may find him provincial, yet not without wit or merit.  I will make his acquaintance, and with your permission will present him to you.  You can give me your opinion when we talk together to-morrow.”