--

"I wonder if women will ever get tired of deriding us, or we of
ministering to their amusement? It must have been a great satisfaction
to Anne of Austria to see Richelieu dance that saraband. (But Mazarin
paid her off for it. I am very glad that the cardinal was avenged by the
_charlatan_.) Now, how could you allow the shepherd to be so rash?
Consider that he has a large and increasing family totally dependent on
him for support. If I were Mrs. Fullarton, I would bring an action
against you. It is a necessity that his successor should quote
_something_; and he really did bring to my mind the description of the
White Bull of Duncraggan, who started up-hill so vigorously--

But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad,
And when we came to Dennan's Row,
A child might scatheless stroke his brow.

I shouldn't like to be the child, though," he added, meditatively, with
a backward glance at the object of his remarks, who indeed did present a
very "dissolving view."

The tone and manner of his speaking showed how much, within the last few
weeks, the relations of the two had altered: the scale was already
wavering, and ere long might be foretold a change in the balance of
power.

His beautiful companion shook her head till the soft curling plumes that
nestled round her hat danced again; but the effect of the reproving
gesture was quite spoilt by the laugh that followed it, suppressed
though clear as a silver bell.

"I will not be made an accomplice in your irreverent comparisons; I
don't admit the resemblance; if there were one, it was too bad of 'the
pikemen' not to be more considerate. You always try to impute malicious
motives to the most innocent. How could I guess that Mr. Fullarton would
suffer so for his devotion to my interests? I will give you back your
quotation in kind. See! if I were as mischievous as you insinuate--

My loss may pay my folly's tax;
I've broke my trusty battle-axe."

The ivory handle of her parasol (the same that had been rescued from
Duchesne) chanced to be entangled in the bridle when the mule stumbled,
and the jerk snapped the frail shaft in two. Keene took the fragment
from her, and looked at it for an instant.

"Poor thing!" he said compassionately; "so it was fated to be
short-lived? It was hardly worth while saving it from the wrath of the
sinner, if it was to be sacrificed so soon to the awkwardness of the
saint."

"Not at all," Cecil