my poor friend,
you're booked for a shocking long walk this morning. You must summon
your utmost fortitude.--_Under the greenwood tree, who loves to lie
with me?_' he carolled forth, to Marzials's tune. 'But come! I say!
That's anticipating.'

And he set forth for the Smugglers' Pathway,--where, sure enough, she
rode again. As she passed him, her eyes met his: at which he was
conscious of a good deal of interior commotion. 'By Jove, she's
magnificent, she's really stunning,' he exclaimed to himself. He
perceived that she was rather a big woman, tall, with finely-rounded,
smoothly-flowing lines. Her hair,--velvety blue-black in its
shadows,--where the light caught it was dully iridescent. Her features
were irregular enough to give her face a high degree of individuality,
yet by no means to deprive it of delicacy or attractiveness. She had
a superb white throat, and a soft voluptuous chin; and 'As I live, I
never saw such a mouth,' said Paul.

Where did she come from? Bayonne? Never. Andre might have been
mistaken about Chateau Yroulte; the Spanish Jew had perhaps sold it,
or found a tenant. Or, further afield, there were Chateaux Labenne,
Saumuse, d'Orthevielle. Or else, the Queen had a guest.

'Anyhow,' he mused, when he got home, 'that makes five, six miles that
you have tramped, to enjoy an instant's glimpse of her. Fortunately
they say walking is good for the constitution. It only shows what
extremities a country life may drive one to.'

The next day, not only did her eyes meet his, but he could have sworn
that she almost smiled. Oh, a very furtive smile, the mere transitory
suggestion of a smile. But the inner commotion was more marked.

The next day (the fourth) she undoubtedly did smile, and slightly
inclined her head. He removed his hat, and went home, and waited
impatiently for twenty-four hours to wear away. 'She smiled--she
bowed,' he kept repeating. But, alas, he couldn't forget that in that
remote countryside it is very much the fashion for people who meet in
the roads and lanes to bow as they pass.

On the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth days she bowed and smiled.

'I fairly wonder at myself--to walk that distance for a bow and
smile,' said Paul. 'To-morrow I'm going to speak. _Faut brusquer les
choses_.'

And he penetrated into the forest, firmly determined to speak. 'Only I
can't seem to think of anything very pat to say,' he sighed. 'Hello!
She's off her horse.'

She was off her horse, sta