to be left in peace!

I thought this, standing by the little Hotel Monte Carlo, waiting for my
mistress and her husband to be supplied with a guide. He was the most
intelligent and efficient-seeming guide imaginable, who looked as if he
had the whole history of Les Baux behind his bright dark eyes; and I
hoped that the humble maid and chauffeur might be allowed to follow the
"quality" within respectful earshot.

Soon they began to walk on, and I turned to look at my brother, who was
lingering by the car. Already the guide had begun to be interesting. I
caught a few words: "Celtic caverns"--"Leibulf, the first Count"--"the
terrible Turenne, called the 'Fleau de Provence'--the Lady Alix's
guardian"--which made me long to hear more; but I didn't want to crawl
on until my Fellow Worm could crawl with me.

"I can't go," he said. "It wouldn't do to leave the car here. There are
several gipsy faces at the inn window, you see. Why there should be
gipsies I don't know; but there are, for those are gipsies or I'll eat
my cap. And I've got to keep watch on deck."

"How horrid to leave you here alone, seeing nothing--not even the
sunset!" I exclaimed. "I think I shall stop with you, unless _she_ calls
me--"

"You'll do nothing of the kind," he had begun, when the summons came,
sooner than I had expected.

CHAPTER XIII

"Elise, come here and put what this guide is saying into English," was
the command, and I flew to obey. To hear him tell what he knew was like
turning over the leaves of the Book of Les Baux; and I tried to do him
justice in my translation; but it was disheartening to see Lady
Turnour's lack-lustre gaze wander as dully about the rock-hewn barracks
of Roman soldiers as if she had been in her own lodging-house cellar,
and to be interrupted by her complaints of the cold wind as we went up
the silent streets, past deserted palaces of dead and gone nobles,
toward the crown of all--the Chateau.

Nothing moved her to any show of interest in this grave of mighty
memories, of mighty warrior princes, and of lovely ladies with names
sweet as music and perfume of potpourri. Wandering in a splendid
confusion of feudal and mediaeval relics--walls with carved doorways, and
doorways without walls; beautiful, purposeless columns whose occupation
had long been gone; carved marvels of fireplaces standing up sadly from
wrecked floors of fair ladies' boudoirs or great banqueting halls, the
stout, painted woman broke in