ne little girl."

"But no, the hotel is almost full--people are gone to mass,
perhaps, or are in bed, or are breakfasting. It is still
early."

"That little girl," said Horace--"does she belong to the
house?"

"You mean the little girl who ran against me as I came up to
you just now? No, the _proprietaire_ of the hotel has but one
daughter, Mademoiselle Cecile, a most amiable person. But I
know that child--her father is one of the _habitues_ of the
hotel. She is much to be pitied, poor little one!"

"Why?" asked Graham.

"Because her father--_ah! bon jour, Madame_--excuse me, Monsieur,
but I go to pay my respects to Madame la Comtesse!" cried the
Belgian, as an elderly red-faced lady, with fuzzy sandy hair,
wearing a dingy, many-flounced lilac barege gown, came towards
them along the gravel path.

"At last we see you back, my dear Monsieur!" she cried--"ah!
how many regrets your absence has caused!--of what an
insupportable _ennui_ have we not been the victims! But you are
looking better than when you left us; your journey has done
you good; it is plain that you have not suffered from
absence."

"Alas! Madame," cries the other, "you little know! And how,
for my part, can I venture to believe in regrets that have
left no traces? Madame is looking more charming, more
blooming----"

Horace waited to hear no more; he left the pair standing and
complimenting each other on the sunny pathway, and wandered
away under the shade of the big trees, crossed the little
stream and the white dusty road beyond, and began to ascend
the hills.

"What an ugly old woman!" thought the lad. "She and my friend
seem to be great allies; she must be at least ten years older
than he is, and he talks to her as if she were a pretty girl;
but she is a Countess apparently, and I suppose that counts
for something. Oh! what a jolly country!"

He strode along whistling, with his hands in his pockets,
feeling as if he had the world before him to explore, and in
the happiest of moods. Such a mood was not rare with Horace
Graham in these youthful days, when, by force of a good
health, and good spirits, and a large capacity for fresh
genuine enjoyment, he was apt to find life pleasant enough on
the whole, though for him it lacked several of the things that
go to make up the ordinary ideal of human happiness. He was
not rich; he had no particular expectations, and but few
family ties, for his parents had both died when he was very
young, a