air,--

"I shall never forget this journey made between Wit and Beauty."

"You flatter me, madame," said the marquise, laughing. "I assure you
that my wit is but a small matter, not to be mentioned by the side of
genius; besides, I think I have not said much as yet."

Charlotte, who keenly felt her mother's absurdity, looked at her,
endeavoring to stop its course; but Madame de Kergarouet went bravely on
in her tilt with the satirical Parisians.

Calyste, who was trotting slowly beside the carriage, could only see the
faces of the two ladies on the front seat, and his eyes expressed, from
time to time, rather painful thoughts. Forced, by her position, to let
herself be looked at, Beatrix constantly avoided meeting the young man's
eyes, and practised a manoeuvre most exasperating to lovers; she held
her shawl crossed and her hands crossed over it, apparently plunged in
the deepest meditation.

At a part of the road which is shaded, dewy, and verdant as a forest
glade, where the wheels of the carriage scarcely sounded, and the breeze
brought down balsamic odors and waved the branches above their heads,
Camille called Madame de Rochefide's attention to the harmonies of the
place, and pressed her knee to make her look at Calyste.

"How well he rides!" she said.

"Oh! Calyste does everything well," said Charlotte.

"He rides like an Englishman," said the marquise, indifferently.

"His mother is Irish,--an O'Brien," continued Charlotte, who thought
herself insulted by such indifference.

Camille and the marquise drove through Guerande with the viscountess and
her daughter, to the great astonishment of the inhabitants of the town.
They left the mother and daughter at the end of the lane leading to
the Guenic mansion, where a crowd came near gathering, attracted by so
unusual a sight. Calyste had ridden on to announce the arrival of the
company to his mother and aunt, who expected them to dinner, that meal
having been postponed till four o'clock. Then he returned to the gate to
give his arm to the two ladies, and bid Camille and Beatrix adieu.

He kissed the hand of Felicite, hoping thereby to be able to do the same
to that of the marquise; but she still kept her arms crossed resolutely,
and he cast moist glances of entreaty at her uselessly.

"You little ninny!" whispered Camille, lightly touching his ear with a
kiss that was full of friendship.

"Quite true," thought Calyste to himself as the carriage drove awa