urling hair, and his
pointed beard and mustache. Yes! this was his face,--the face that
many women in Paris had agreed was romantic and picturesque. Had those
wretched greenhorns never seen a real man before? Were they idiots,
or insane? A sudden recollection of the silence and seclusion of the
building suggested certainly an asylum,--but where were the keepers?

It was getting darker in the wood; he made haste to recover his horse,
to drag it to the spring, and there bathe its shoulder in the water
mixed with whiskey taken from his flask. His saddle-bag contained enough
bread and meat for his own supper; he would camp for the night where he
was, and with the first light of dawn make his way back through the
wood whence he came. As the light slowly faded from the wood he rolled
himself in his saddle-blanket and lay down.

But not to sleep. His strange position, the accident to his horse,
an unusual irritation over the incident of the frightened
servants,--trivial as it might have been to any other man,--and, above
all, an increasing childish curiosity, kept him awake and restless.
Presently he could see also that it was growing lighter beyond the
edge of the wood, and that the rays of a young crescent moon, while it
plunged the forest into darkness and impassable shadow, evidently was
illuminating the hollow below. He threw aside his blanket, and made his
way to the hedge again. He was right; he could see the quaint, formal
lines of the old garden more distinctly,--the broad terrace, the queer,
dark bulk of the house, with lights now gleaming from a few of its open
windows.

Before one of these windows opening on the terrace was a small, white,
draped table with fruits, cups, and glasses, and two or three chairs. As
he gazed curiously at these new signs of life and occupation, he became
aware of a regular and monotonous tap upon the stone flags of the
terrace. Suddenly he saw three figures slowly turn the corner of the
terrace at the further end of the building, and walk towards the table.
The central figure was that of an elderly woman, yet tall and stately
of carriage, walking with a stick, whose regular tap he had heard,
supported on the one side by an elderly Cure in black soutaine, and on
the other by a tall and slender girl in white.

They walked leisurely to the other end of the terrace, as if performing
a regular exercise, and returned, stopping before the open French
window; where, after remaining in conver