IX

Next morning the baroness went away in her glittering caleche with
Louison. Each shining spoke and golden turret flashed the sunlight
back at me as I looked after them at the edge of the wood. The
baroness had asked me to go with her, but I thought the journey too
long. Louise came out and sat by me awhile as I lay in the
hammock. She was all in white. A trifle taller and a bit more
slender than her sister, I have sometimes thought her beauty was
statelier, also, and more statuesque. The sight of her seemed to
kindle in me the spirit of old chivalry. I would have fought and
died for her with my best lance and plume. In all my life I had
not seen a woman of sweeter graces of speech and manner, and, in
truth, I have met some of the best born of her sex.

She had callers presently--the Sieur Michel and his daughter. I
went away, then, for a walk, and, after a time, strolled into the
north trail. Crossing a mossy glade, in a circle of fragrant
cedar, I sat down to rest. The sound of falling water came to my
ear through thickets of hazel and shadberry. Suddenly I heard a
sweet voice singing a love-song of Provence--the same voice, the
same song, I had heard the day I came half fainting on my horse.
Somebody was coming near. In a moment I saw Louise before me.

"What, ma'm'selle!" I said; "alone in the woods!"

"Not so," said she. "I knew you were here--somewhere,
and--and--well, I thought you might be lonely."

"You are a good angel," I said, "always trying to make others
happy."

"Eh bien," said she, sitting beside me, "I was lonely myself. I
cannot read or study. I have neglected my lessons; I have insulted
the tutor--threw my book at him, and walked away, for he sputtered
at me. I do not know what is the matter. I know I am very wicked.
Perhaps--ah me! perhaps it is the devil."

"Ma'm'selle, it is appalling!" I said. "You may have injured the
poor man. You must be very bad. Let me see your palm."

I held her dainty fingers in mine, that were still hard and brown,
peering into the pink hollow of her hand. She looked up curiously.

"A quick temper and a heart of gold," I said. "If the devil has
it, he is lucky, and--well, I should like to be in his confidence."

"Ah, m'sieur," said she, seriously, a little tremor on her lips, "I
have much trouble--you do not know. I have to fight with myself."

"You have, then, a formidable enemy," I answered.

"But I am not quarrelsome," said she,