It must have been my readiness that made her smile.  Then her eyes rested on mine.

“You look tired, Mr. Ritchie,” she said.  “You did not obey me and go home last night.”

“How did you know that?” I asked, with a thrill at her interest.

“Because Madame Gravois told my messenger that you were out.”

I was silent.

“You must take care of yourself,” she said briefly.  “Come, there are some things which I wish to say to you before Antoinette is ready.”

She led me toward the end of the gallery, where a bright screen of morning-glories shaded us from the sun.  But we had scarce reached the place ere the sound of steps made us turn, and there was Mademoiselle Antoinette herself facing us.  I went forward a few steps, hesitated, and bowed.  She courtesied, my name faltering on her lips.  Yes, it was Antoinette, not the light-hearted girl whom we had heard singing “Ma luron” in the garden, but a woman now with a strange beauty that astonished me.  Hers was the dignity that comes from unselfish service, the calm that is far from resignation, though the black veil caught up on her chapeau de paille gave her the air of a Sister of Mercy.  Antoinette had inherited the energies as well as the features of the St. Gre’s, yet there was a painful moment as she stood there, striving to put down the agitation the sight of me gave her.  As for me, I was bereft of speech, not knowing what to say or how far to go.  My last thought was of the remarkable quality in this woman before me which had held her true to Mrs. Temple, and which sent her so courageously to her duty now.

Madame la Vicomtesse, as I had hoped, relieved the situation.  She knew how to broach a dreaded subject.

“Mr. Ritchie is going with us, Antoinette,” she said.

“It is perhaps best to explain everything to him before we start.  I was about to tell you, Mr. Ritchie,” she continued, turning to me, “that Auguste has given no hint in his note of Mr. Temple’s presence in Louisiana.  And yet you told me that they were to have come here together.”

“Yes,” I answered, “and I have no reason to think they have separated.”

“I was merely going to suggest,” said the Vicomtesse, firmly, “I was merely going to suggest the possibility of our meeting Mr. Temple with Auguste.”

It was Antoinette who answered, with a force that revealed a new side of her character.

“Mr. Temple will not be there,” she said, flashing a glance upon us.  “Do you think he would come to me—?”

Helene laid her hand upon the girl’s arm.

“My dear, I think nothing,” she said quietly; “but it is best for us to be prepared against any surprise.  Remember that I do not know Mr. Temple, and that you have not seen him for five years.”

“It is not like him, you know it is not like him,” exclaimed Antoinette, looking at me.

“I know it is not like him, Mademoiselle,” I replied.