aris. The house is ready to be locked, everything is in
perfect order, and really, Jack, there is no necessity for your
coming. Perhaps Lorraine's father may ask you to stay there for a
few days."

"He has," said Jack, growing a trifle pink.

"Then you need not come to Belfort at all," insisted his aunt.
Jack protested that he could not let them go to Paris alone.

"But I've sent Faust on already," said Madame de Morteyn,
smiling.

"Then the Marquis de Nesville will lend me a horse; you can't
keep me away like that," said Jack; "I will drive Mademoiselle de
Nesville to her home and then come on horseback and meet you at
Belfort, as I said I would."

"We won't count on you," said his aunt; "if you're not there when
the train comes, your uncle and I will abandon you to the mercy
of Lorraine."

"I shall send him on by freight," said Lorraine, trying to smile.

"I'm going back to the Chateau de Nesville to-night for an hour
or two," observed Jack, finishing his Moselle; "the marquis
wanted me to help him on the last touches. He makes an ascent
to-morrow noon."

"Take a lantern, then," said Madame de Morteyn; "don't you want
Jules, too--if you're going on foot through the forest?"

"Don't want Jules, and the squirrels won't eat me," laughed Jack,
looking across at Lorraine. He was thinking of that first dash in
the night together, she riding with the fury of a storm-witch,
her ball-gown in ribbons, her splendid hair flashing, he
galloping at her stirrup, putting his horse at a dark figure that
rose in their path; and then the collision, the trample, the
shots in the dark, and her round white shoulder seared with the
bullet mark.

She raised her beautiful eyes and asked him how soon he was going
to start.

"Now," he said.

"You will perhaps wait until your old aunt rises," said Madame de
Morteyn, and she kissed him on the cheek. He helped her from her
chair and led her from the room, the vicomte following with
Lorraine.

Ten minutes later he was ready to start, and again he promised
Lorraine to return at eleven o'clock.

"'Tiens ta Foy,'" she repeated.

"Always, Lorraine."

The night was starless. As he stood there on the terrace swinging
his lantern, he looked back at her, up into her eyes. And as he
looked she bent down, impulsively stretching out both arms and
whispering, "At eleven--you have promised, Jack."

At last his name had fallen from her lips--had slipped from them
easily--sweet as the l