the dear old
gentleman, looking like a late eighteenth-century portrait as he smiled
under his high hat. "And what thinks monsieur?"

"That it is better not to give him a chance to fly away, by keeping the
door shut against him in the beginning," replied Mr. Dane, as coldly as
if he kept his heart on ice.

Sunset was fading, like Love on the mosaic, when we came to the
amphitheatre; but the sky was still stained red, and each great arch of
stone framed a separate ruby. It was a strange effect, almost sinister
in its splendour, and all the air was rose-coloured.

"Is it a good omen or an evil one for our future?" I asked.

"Means storms, I think," the chauffeur answered in the laconic way he
affects sometimes, but there was an odd smile in his eyes, almost like
defiance--of me, or of Fate. I didn't know which but I should have liked
to know.

CHAPTER XX

The wind sang me to sleep that night in Nimes--sang in my dreams, and
sang me awake when morning turned a white searchlight on my eyelids.

I was glad to see sunshine, for this was the day of our flight into the
north, and if the sky frowned on the enterprise Lady Turnour might frown
too, in spite of Bertie and his chateau.

It was cold, and I trembled lest the word "snow" should be dropped by
the bridegroom into the ear of the bride; but nothing was said of the
weather or of any change in the programme, while I and paint and powder
and copper tresses were doing what Nature had refused to do for her
ladyship.

"Cold morning, madame!" remarked the porter, who came to bring more wood
for the sitting-room fire before breakfast. He was a polite and pleasant
man, but I could have boxed his ears. "Madame departs to-day in her
automobile? Is it to go south or north? Because in the north--"

With great presence of mind I dropped a pile of maps and guide-books.

"What a clumsy creature you are!" exclaimed her ladyship, playing into
my hands. "I couldn't understand the last part of what he said."

Luckily by this time the man was gone; and my memory of his words was
extraordinarily vague. But a dozen things contrived to keep me in
suspense. Every one who came near Lady Turnour had something to say
about the weather. Then, for the first time, it occurred to the Aigle to
play a trick upon us. Just as the luggage was piled in, after numerous
little delays, she cast a shoe; in other words, burst a tyre, apparently
without any reason except a mischievous desire to