u mine."

"Some rosy-cheeked peasant girl?" laughing.

"Perhaps. Perhaps it's only a--a pantry maid," with a sly look from the
corner of his eyes. Evidently she had not heard. She was still laughing.
"I have heard of hermits falling in love with stars, and have laughed.
Now I am in the same predicament. I love a star--"

"Operatic? To be sure! Mademoiselle Lenormand of the Royal Vienna is in
Bleiberg. How she keeps her age!"

It was Maurice's turn to laugh.

"And that is why you came to Bleiberg! Ah, these opera singers, had I my
way, they should all be aged and homely."

"Countess, you are pulling the bit too hard," said he. "I noticed
yesterday that your horse has a very tender mouth."

"Thank you." She slacked the rein. "He was going too close to the ditch.
You were saying--"

"No, it was you who were saying that all actresses should be aged and
homely. But it is not Mademoiselle Lenormand, it is not the peasant, nor
the pantry maid."

This time she looked up quickly.

"The woman I love is too far away, so I am going to give up thinking of
her. Countess, I made a peculiar discovery this morning."

"A discovery, Monsieur? What is it?"

"Do you see that fork in the road, a mile away? When we reach it and
turn I'll tell you what it is. If I told you now it might spoil the
ride. What a day, truly! How clear everything is! And the air is like
wine." He drew in deep breaths.

"Let us hurry and reach the fork in the road; my curiosity is stifling
me."

Maurice did not laugh as she expected he would. As she observed the
thoughtful frown between his brows, a shiver of dread ran through her.
It did not take long to cover the intervening mile. They turned, and the
horses fell into a quick step.

"Now, Monsieur; please!"

After all... But he quelled the gentle tremor in his heart. A month
ago, had he known her, he might now have told her altogether a different
story. He could see that she had not an inkling of what was to come (for
he had determined to tell her); and he vaguely wondered if he should
bring humiliation to the dainty creature. It would be like nicking
a porcelain cup. Her brows were arched inquisitively and her lips
puckered....He had had a narrow escape.

He drew the message from his breast, leaned across and handed it to her.

"Why, what is this, Monsieur?"

"Read it and see." And he busied himself with the tangled mane of his
horse. When they had ridden several yards, he heard her voice.