him, and crossed over to the hedge and the gateway
and through it to the Palace Gardens. On all sides the paths stretched
broad and inviting toward the various alleys, and upon the terrace to
his left there shone a thousand flowers in June abundance. The
gentleman chose the first path that opened, and went carelessly down
it, and in a few moments the pretty ring of an embowered circle spread
before him, but, although there was an inviting marble bench under a
big tree at one side, and several eighteenth century marbles on their
pedestals, illuminated by the bland eighteenth century smile, there was
not a living woman in sight to make him, the visitor, welcome! He went
a little further along and found another felicitous, harmonious circle,
where a small fountain threw its jets on the June air. At the sound of
the water Bulstrode remembered that the Grands Eaux were to play on
this afternoon at Versailles.

"Ah, _that_ is why they especially wanted me to come out to-day," he
decided.

On the other side of the fountain, the vivid white of her summer dress
making a flash like moonlight on the obscurity of the woods, a lady was
standing looking across at Mr. Bulstrode.

"Hush!" she said; "come over softly, Jimmy; there is a timid third
party here."

On a branch at her side, where an oriole sat, his head thrown back, his
throat swelling, there was a little stir and flutter of leaves, for
although the lady had put her finger to her lips, her voice broke the
spell, and a bit of yellow flashed through the trees.

"I don't believe _he_ will ever forgive you!" she cried; "you spoiled
his solo, but I'll forgive you. What brought you out to Versailles
to-day?"

"The fountains," Bulstrode told her; "I have never seen them play.
Then, too--there are certain places to which, when I am asked to
luncheon, I always go."

"That's quite true," she accepted; "you _were_ invited!--but, to be
perfectly frank, I did not expect you, so your coming on this occasion
has only the pleasure of a surprise. As a rule, I hate them. My
husband informed me that he would telephone you to meet him in Paris,
but I think he must have forgotten you, Jimmy."

She was taking him in from his fresh panama to his boots, and she
apparently found an air of festivity about him.

"Was it," she asked, "in honor of the fountains' playing that you have
made yourself so beautiful?"

Bulstrode took the boutonniere out of his coat lapel and handed it to