g tone with which
she veiled all of her impertinences:

"Monsieur, will you kindly ride back and ask your brother, Monsieur
Gaston, to give me the pleasure of his company?"

No man could disguise his choler better than Regnard Cheverny, but
that he was angry, his eyes and his face showed. He replied, however,
with much smoothness, to her:

"Mademoiselle, I am the poorest hand in the world at delivering
messages from a lady to a gentleman. I always forget them, or get them
wrong. So, I will ride back, but if you wish my brother's company, you
will be compelled to find another messenger."

And he rode back.

Francezka turned to me, her face sparkling with smiles. Our horses
were at a standstill on the highway, the chaise and the rest of the
party a good mile behind us already.

"Good Babache, was I not clever to get rid of him?" she said.

"Very clever, Mademoiselle," I said. "But why should you choose to get
rid of him? He is a well-appearing man, of great accomplishments, and
good estate. Why were you so severe with him?"

"Do you really wish to know why?" She moved her horse up close to me
so she could whisper in my ear. "Because he is always seeking my
company; and because, in truth, I have more than enough of his now."

"Is that ground for ill-treating a man?" I asked.

"Assuredly, if a woman mislikes him as I mislike Monsieur Regnard
Cheverny."

"But you show great good-will toward Monsieur Gaston Cheverny--and
they are as like as two peas."

"Outwardly, yes. Inwardly, never were two men so unlike. Come now,
Babache, do you not love Monsieur Gaston?"

"Yes, with all my heart."

"And do you not love Monsieur Regnard?"

I saw whither she was leading me, but I could only say:

"No--I do not love him."

"Well--they are as like as two peas."

She turned her head at the sound of galloping hoofs. Gaston was riding
toward us. The blood that poured into Francezka's cheeks, the light
that shone in her eyes, showed plainly how welcome was his society. I
afterward asked Gaston if Regnard had given him a message from
Francezka. He said no; but seeing Regnard return with a black
countenance, he thought to try his luck with mademoiselle--and was
rewarded for so doing.

We went forward at a smart pace. Every foot of the way recalled to
Francezka and Gaston their childish days, and they talked with the
greatest animation.

We were skirting the forest and heights of the Ardennes, and at last,
the highway b