sound had fallen suddenly into the stillness, and the
shutters of one of the upper windows of the wing which overlooked the
garden were swinging slowly outward. A ripple of laughter, musical and
mocking, rang clearly on the air; at the same moment a woman appeared,
framed like a portrait in the narrow casement. She crossed her arms on
the iron window-bar, and gazed silently down on the startled group
below. She was strangely beautiful and young, though an air of soft and
subtle maturity pervaded her graceful figure. A glory of yellow hair
encircled her pale oval face, and waved away in fluffy masses to her
waist; her full lips were scarlet; her eyes, beneath their straight dark
brows, were gray, with emerald shadows in their luminous depths. Her
low-cut gown, of some thin, yellowish-white material, exposed her
exquisitely rounded throat and perfect neck; long, flowing sleeves of
spidery lace fell away from her shapely arms, leaving them bare to the
shoulder; loose strings of pearls were wound around her small wrists,
and about her throat was clasped a strand of blood-red coral, from
which hung to the hollow of her bosom a single translucent drop of
amber. A smile at once daring and derisive parted her lips; an elusive
light came and went in her eyes.

Keith had started impatiently from his seat at the unwelcome
interruption. He stood regarding the intruder with mute, half-frowning
inquiry.

Felice turned a bewildered face to her grandmother. "Who is it, mere?"
she whispered. "Did--did you give her leave?"

Madame Arnault had sunk back in her chair. Her hands trembled
convulsively still, and the lace on her bosom rose and fell with the
hurried beating of her heart. But she spoke in her ordinary measured,
almost formal tones, as she put out a hand and drew the girl to her
side. "I do not know, my child. Perhaps Suzette Beauvais has come over
with her guests from Grandchamp. I thought I heard but now the sound of
boats on the bayou. Suzette is ever ready with her pranks. Or perhaps--"

She stopped abruptly. The stranger was drawing the batten blinds
together. Her ivory-white arms gleamed in the sun. For a moment they
could see her face shining like a star against the dusky glooms within;
then the bolt was shot sharply to its place.

Old Marcelite drew a long breath of relief as she disappeared. A
smothered ejaculation had escaped her lips, under the girl's intent
gaze; an ashen gray had overspread her dark face. "Mam