poured in through the windows and
flooded us, falling short of him; of a pair of fierce cross eyes, that
seemed to glow as they covered us; of a lip that curled as in the
enjoyment of some cruel jest. And so I--and I think each of us four
saw the last of Raoul de Mar, Vidame de Bezers, in this life.

He was a man whom we cannot judge by to-day's standard; for he was such
an one in his vices and his virtues as the present day does not know;
one who in his time did immense evil--and if his friends be believed,
little good. But the evil is forgotten; the good lives. And if all
that good save one act were buried with him, this one act alone, the
act of a French gentleman, would be told of him--ay! and will be
told--as long as the kingdom of France, and the gracious memory of the
late king, shall endure.

* * * * *

I see again by the simple process of shutting my eyes, the little party
of five--for Jean, our servant, had rejoined us--who on that summer day
rode over the hills to Caylus, threading the mazes of the holm-oaks,
and galloping down the rides, and hallooing the hare from her form, but
never pursuing her; arousing the nestling farmhouses from their sleepy
stillness by joyous shout and laugh, and sniffing, as we climbed the
hill-side again, the scent of the ferns that died crushed under our
horses' hoofs--died only that they might add one little pleasure more
to the happiness God had given us. Rare and sweet indeed are those few
days in life, when it seems that all creation lives only that we may
have pleasure in it, and thank God for it. It is well that we should
make the most of them, as we surely did of that day.

It was nightfall when we reached the edge of the uplands, and looked
down on Caylus. The last rays of the sun lingered with us, but the
valley below was dark; so dark that even the rock about which our homes
clustered would have been invisible save for the half-dozen lights that
were beginning to twinkle into being on its summit. A silence fell
upon us as we slowly wended our way down the well-known path.

All day long we had ridden in great joy; if thoughtless, yet innocent;
if selfish, yet thankful; and always blithely, with a great exultation
and relief at heart, a great rejoicing for our own sakes and for Kit's.

Now with the nightfall and the darkness, now when we were near our
home, and on the eve of giving joy to another, we grew silent. There
arose other thoug