rstand--that?" and she pointed her finger to the
servants who were chasing and capturing the refractory sheep one by one.

I shook my head, for, in all seriousness, it was a queer proceeding.

"Well it's too merry a jest to keep long a secret. Beside I'm weary of
these eternal shackles of court which forbid me to speak to those whom
I please." A certain defiance gave an undercurrent of sadness to her
voice, a mounting rebellion to her tone.

"And I _will_ talk if I want to; there's no harm, is there?"

I gravely assured her not, and wondered what was coming.

"Well, you see," she dried her eyes on a handkerchief of costliest
lace, "you see my--that is, the Duchess, is of such a romantic
temperament, so enamoured of rural scenes, idyllic meadows, pretty
shepherdesses, and the like--all the court makes merry at her foible.
She thought to astonish Paris to-night by a lavish display of sweet
simplicity--did Monsieur see it? That big dark place back there,
behind the glass partition, was arranged as a meadow, with a stream
winding through it, and rocks and trees, and what not. She had a flock
of sheep washed clean and white, penned up and in waiting. At a signal
from her during the ball, lights were to have been turned on, and
Mademoiselle, the pretty opera singer, was to come gracefully down a
curving pathway, dressed as a shepherdess, singing and leading her
sheep. Oh, it was to be too pure for this earth. The Duchess fretted
for the opportune time. But the sheep escaped from their keepers, and,
oh, isn't it too ludicrous?"

Thus she chattered on with the naive freedom of any other young
demoiselle. I agreed with her, and was inwardly glad the affair turned
out an accident, for were this the custom of balls I'd go to no others.

We continued to chat gayly together; she was of a lively wit, and
surprised me by her knowledge of dogs and horses, of the chase, of
sword play and of firearms. Odd tastes for a gentlewoman, most of all
for one of her exalted rank. Of this latter I had no doubt. I knew
none of the people she mentioned, nothing of the drawing-room gossip,
and she very naturally remarked.

"My lord is a stranger?"

"Only yesterday in Paris," I assented.

"From what place comes my lord?" and for the second time in a day I was
driven to a direct lie.

"From Normandy," I replied.

"To live in Paris?"

"No, unfortunately; my affairs will be finished in a few days at most.
Then I return to the