demoiselle said, with a laugh: "You will have to
arrest everyone we meet on the road, monsieur, if your suspicions are
aroused so easily." Nevertheless, I was certain that a glance of
understanding had passed between her and the landlord, and I felt sure
that it would be well to pay a little attention to the retiring
stranger.

As I expected, the landlord shortly after retired, leaving us alone.
The room we were in was long and low, with a window opening into the
garden. Mademoiselle was sitting facing this window, which lay open
because of the warmth of the night, whilst my back was turned towards
it. I said something about the landlord's manner, and mademoiselle
replied:

"He is of lower Poitou, monsieur. Men there are like their
country--sullen and sad." And then she stopped suddenly, her eyes
fixed on the window, whilst her colour came and went. She had not the
gift that cynics assert is a special attribute of the sex, and was a
bad dissembler; and I here venture to say such women make the best of
wives, even though life's passage with them may be at times a little
stormy.

"Is there anything there?" I asked, making a movement as if to turn
round; but she said hastily:

"No, nothing; I thought I saw a figure passing--that is all."

"One of my men, no doubt," I said carelessly. "We may rest secure
to-night, for they will keep good watch."

To this she made no answer, but taking a rose from out of a vase near
her began to pluck the petals in an absent manner and lay them beside
her. When a woman's wits are pitted against those of a man it is well
for him to disregard nothing, and, slight as this action was, I took
note of it. I counted the petals as she plucked them. They were
twelve in all. Then she cast the rose aside, and picked up the petals
one after another, counting them aloud, and when she came to the
twelfth she put them in a heap beside her plate.

"Twelve," I said. "Is that a magic number?"

"No, monsieur; but it is my lucky number." And rising she moved to the
window and, sitting thereon, looked forth. The night was dark, and all
the stars were out. From the open window, a pennon of light streamed
out into the garden, heavy with the scent of roses. Mademoiselle took
a deep breath, and then pointing to the twinkling lights above us,
asked:

"Are you learned in the stars, Monsieur Broussel?"

I looked out too, for I was standing at the window, and laughed.

"No, mademoiselle; a