e and groom at the museum, so "my brother"
hurried me along faster than I liked, until the fascination of the
museum had enthralled me; then I thanked him, for Mistral was there, for
the moment all alone.

Mr. Dane hadn't told me that they had met before, but Monsieur Mistral
greeted him at once as an acquaintance, smiling one of his illuminating
smiles. He even remembered certain treasures of the museum which the
chauffeur--in unchauffeur days--had liked best. These were pointed out
and their interest explained to me, best of all to my romantic, Latin
side being the "Cabelladuro d'Or," the lovely golden hair of the dead
Beauty of Les Baux, that enchanted princess whose magic sleep was so
rudely broken. We all talked together of the exquisite Venus of Arles,
agreeing that it was wicked to have transplanted her to the Louvre; and
Mistral's eyes rested upon me with something like interest for a moment
as I said that I had seen and loved her there. I felt flattered and
happy, forgetting that I was only a servant, who ought scarcely to have
dared speak in the presence of this great genius.

"She seems to understand something of the charm of Provence, which
makes our country different from any other in the world, does she not?"
the poet said at last to my companion. "She would enjoy an August fete
at Arles. Some day you ought to bring her."

Mr. Dane did not answer or look at me; and I was thankful for that,
because I was being silly enough to blush. It was too easy so see what
Monsieur Mistral thought!

"Why didn't you tell me you knew him already?" I asked, when we had
reluctantly left the museum (which might be invaded by the Philistines
at any minute) and were on our way to the famous Church of St. Trophime.
That we meant to see first, saving the theatre for sunset.

"Oh," answered the chauffeur evasively, "I wasn't at all sure he'd
remember me. He has so many admirers, and sees so many people."

"I have a sort of idea that your last visit to this part of the world
was paid _en prince_, all the same!" I was impertinent enough to say.

He laughed. "Well, it was rather different from this one, anyhow," he
admitted. "A little while ago it made me pretty sick to compare the past
with the present, but I don't feel like that now."

"Why have you changed?" I asked.

"Partly the influence of your cheerful mind."

"Thank you. And the other part?"

"Another influence, even more powerful."

"I should like to know what