e expressed it in so many words that I
was her faithless lover, yet women are quick to detect and interpret the
signs of disorders springing from such causes, and I had every fear that
Roxalanne was come to the conclusion that I had lied to her yesternight.
With an uneasy spirit, then, I went in quest of her, and I found her
walking in the old rose garden behind the chateau.

She did not at first remark my approach, and I had leisure for some
moments to observe her and to note the sadness that dwelt in her profile
and the listlessness of her movements. This, then, was my work--mine,
and that of Monsieur de Chatellerault, and those other merry gentlemen
who had sat at my table in Paris nigh upon a month ago.

I moved, and the gravel crunched under my foot, whereupon she turned,
and, at sight of me advancing towards her, she started. The blood
mounted to her face, to ebb again upon the instant, leaving it paler
than it had been. She made as if to depart; then she appeared to check
herself, and stood immovable and outwardly calm, awaiting my approach.

But her eyes were averted, and her bosom rose and fell too swiftly to
lend colour to that mask of indifference she hurriedly put on. Yet, as
I drew nigh, she was the first to speak, and the triviality of her words
came as a shock to me, and for all my knowledge of woman's way caused me
to doubt for a moment whether perhaps her calm were not real, after all.

"You are a laggard this morning, Monsieur de Lesperon." And, with a half
laugh, she turned aside to break a rose from its stem.

"True," I answered stupidly; "I slept over-late."

"A thousand pities, since thus you missed seeing Mademoiselle de Marsac.
Have they told you that she was here?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. Stanislas de Marsac left a letter for me."

"You will regret not having seen them, no doubt?" quoth she.

I evaded the interrogative note in her voice. "That is their fault. They
appear to have preferred to avoid me."

"Is it matter for wonder?" she flashed, with a sudden gleam of fury
which she as suddenly controlled. With the old indifference, she added,
"You do not seem perturbed, monsieur?"

"On the contrary, mademoiselle; I am very deeply perturbed."

"At not having seen your betrothed?" she asked, and now for the first
time her eyes were raised, and they met mine with a look that was a
stab.

"Mademoiselle, I had the honour of telling you yesterday that I had
plighted my troth to no living woma