“Is the house at the top?” I asked Gustave.

“Just under the top,” said he.

“I shall walk,” said I.

The fact is, I had grown intolerably impatient of our slow jog, which had now sunk to a walk.

We jumped out and strode on ahead, soon distancing our carriage, and waking echoes with our merry talk.

“I rather wonder they have not come to meet us,” said Gustave.  “See, there is the house.”

A sudden turn in the road had brought us in sight Of it.  It was a rather small modern Gothic château.  It nestled comfortably below the hill, which rose very steeply immediately behind it.  The road along which we were approaching appeared to afford the only access, and no other house was visible.  But, desolate as the spot certainly was, the house itself presented a gay appearance, for there were lights in every window from ground to roof.

“She seems to have company,” I observed.

“It is that she expects us,” answered Gustave.  “This illumination is in our honor.”

“Come on,” said I, quickening my pace; and Gustave burst out laughing.

“I knew you would catch fire when once I got you started!” he cried.

Suddenly a voice struck on my ear—­a clear, pleasant voice: 

“Was he slow to catch fire, my dear Gustave?”

I started.  Gustave looked round.

“It is she,” he said.  “Where is she?”

“Was he slow to catch fire?” asked the voice again.  “Well, he has but just come near the flame”—­and a laugh followed the words.

“Slow to light is long to burn,” said I, turning to the bank on the left side of the road, for it was thence that the voice came.

A moment later a little figure in white darted down into the road, laughing and panting.  She seized Gustave’s hand.

“I ran so hard to meet you!” she cried.

“And have you brought Claire with you?” he asked.

“Present your friend to me,” commanded the duchess, as though she had not heard his question.

Did I permit myself to guess at such things, I should have guessed the duchess to be about twenty-five years old.  She was not tall; her hair was a dark brown, and the color in her cheeks rich but subdued.  She moved with extraordinary grace and agility, and seemed never at rest.  The one term of praise (if it be one, which I sometimes incline to doubt) that I have never heard applied to her is—­dignified.

“It is most charming of you to come, Mr. Aycon,” said she.  “I’ve heard so much of you, and you’ll be so terribly dull!”

“With yourself, madame, and Mlle. de Berensac—­”

“Oh, of course you must say that!” she interrupted.  “But come along, supper is ready.  How delightful to have supper again!  I’m never in good enough spirits to have supper when I’m alone.  You’ll be terribly uncomfortable, gentlemen.  The whole household consists of an old man and five women—­counting myself.”