scinations had made her forget her
companion.

Louise, uneasy at being so long separated from her chaperon, leaned over
the edge of the battlement. A stone, which only needed the weight of a
tired swallow to dislodge it, rolled from Under Louise's foot, who,
terribly frightened, threw herself in my arms. I held her for a moment
pressed to my heart. She was very pale; her head was thrown back, the
dizziness of lofty heights had taken possession of her.

"Do not let me fall; my head whirls!"

"Fear not," I replied; "I am holding you, and the spirit of the gulf
shall not have you."

"Ouf! What an insane idea, to climb like cats over this old pile of
stones!" cried Alfred, who had finally arrived, dragging after him
Madame Taverneau, who with her shawl looked like a poppy in a
corn-field. We left the tower and gained our boat. Louise threw me a
tearful and grateful glance, and seated herself by Madame Taverneau. A
tug-boat passed us; we hailed it; it threw us a rope, and in a few hours
we were at Pont de l'Arche.

This is a faithful account of our expedition; it is nothing, and yet a
great deal. It is sufficient to show me that I possess some influence
over Louise; that my look fascinates her, my voice affects her, my touch
agitates her; for one moment I held her trembling against my heart; she
did not repulse me. It is true that by a little feminine Jesuitism,
common enough, she might ascribe all this to vertigo, a sort of vertigo
common to youth and love, which has turned more heads than all the
precipices of Mount Blanc!

What a strange creature is Louise! An inexplicable mixture of acute
intelligence and virgin modesty, displaying at the same time an
ignorance and information never imagined. These piquant contrasts make
me admire her all the more. The day after to-morrow Madame Taverneau is
going on business to Rouen. Louise will be alone, and I intend to repeat
the donjon scene, with improvements and deprived of the inopportune
appearance of Madame Taverneau's yellow shawl and the luckless Alfred's
green hunting-dress. What delicious dreams will visit me to-night in my
hammock at Richeport!

My next letter will begin, I hope, with this triumphant line of the
Chevalier de Bertin:

"Elle est a moi, divinites du Pinde!"

Good-bye, my dear Roger. I wish you good luck in your search. Since you
have once seen Irene, she cannot wear Gyges' ring. You may meet her
again; but if you have to make your way through si