and beauty in one person. It is still a universally accepted law
that old people must be wise and young persons only charming. Some may
think that they could point to a wise child born of foolish parents; to
a daughter who is well-educated and shrewd, possessing a sense of logic,
and a mother who is ignorant and foolish; to a son who has more sense
than his father: but of course such observers must be mistaken. Old
theories must be the right ones. The Marquis had no doubt of this, at
all events, and thought it most amusing that Juliette should establish
order in the chaos of domestic affairs at Gemosac.

"You are grave," said Juliette to Barebone, one evening soon after
his return, when they happened to be alone in the little drawing-room.
Barebone was, in fact, not a lively companion; for he had sat staring at
the log-fire for quite three minutes when his eyes might assuredly have
been better employed. "You are grave. Are you thinking of your sins?"

"When I think of those, Mademoiselle, I laugh. It is when I think of you
that I am grave."

"Thank you."

"So I am always grave, you understand."

She glanced quickly, not at him but toward him, and then continued her
lace-making, with the ghost of a smile tilting the corners of her lips.

"It is because I have something to tell you."

"A secret?" she inquired, and she continued to smile, but differently,
and her eyes hardened almost to resentment.

"Yes; a secret. It is a secret only known to two other people in the
world besides myself. And they will never let you know even that they
share it with you, Mademoiselle."

"Then they are not women," she said, with a sudden laugh. "Tell it to
me, then--your secret."

There had been an odd suggestion of foreknowledge in her manner, as
if she were humouring him by pretending to accept as a secret of vast
importance some news which she had long known--that little air of
patronage which even schoolgirls bestow, at times, upon white-haired
men. It is part of the maternal instinct. But this vanished when she
heard that she was to share the secret with two men, and she repeated,
impatiently, "Tell me, please."

"It is a secret which will make a difference to us all our lives,
Mademoiselle," he said, warningly. "It will not leave us the same as it
found us. It has made a difference to all who know it. Therefore, I have
only decided to tell you after long consideration. It is, in fact, a
point of honour. It is necessary fo