manner of my going?"

"But"--the trouble grew in her eyes; her cheeks seemed to wax paler than
they had been--"but I thought that--that we made a bargain."

"'Sh! mademoiselle, I implore you," I cried. "I take shame at the
memory of it. Almost as much shame as I take at the memory of that other
bargain which first brought me to Lavedan. The shame of the former one
I have wiped out--although, perchance, you think it not. I am wiping out
the shame of the latter one. It was unworthy in me, mademoiselle, but
I loved you so dearly that it seemed to me that no matter how I came by
you, I should rest content if I but won you. I have since seen the error
if it, the injustice of it. I will not take what is not freely given.
And so, farewell."

"I see, I see," she murmured, and ignored the hand that I held out. "I
am very glad of it, monsieur."

I withdrew my hand sharply. I took up my hat from the chair on which I
had cast it. She might have spared me that, I thought. She need not
have professed joy. At least she might have taken my hand and parted in
kindness.

"Adieu, mademoiselle!" I said again, as stiffly as might be, and I
turned towards the door.

"Monsieur!" she called after me. I halted.

"Mademoiselle?"

She stood demurely, with eyes downcast and hands folded. "I shall be so
lonely here."

I stood still. I seemed to stiffen. My heart gave a mad throb of hope,
then seemed to stop. What did she mean? I faced her fully once more,
and, I doubt not, I was very pale. Yet lest vanity should befool me, I
dared not act upon suspicions. And so "True, mademoiselle," said I. "You
will be lonely. I regret it."

As silence followed, I turned again to the door, and my hopes sank with
each step in that direction.

"Monsieur!"

Her voice arrested me upon the very threshold.

"What shall a poor girl do with this great estate upon her hands? It
will go to ruin without a man to govern it."

"You must not attempt the task. You must employ an intendant."

I caught something that sounded oddly like a sob. Could it be? Dieu!
could it be, after all? Yet I would not presume. I half turned again,
but her voice detained me. It came petulantly now.

"Monsieur de Bardelys, you have kept your promise nobly. Will you ask no
payment?"

"No, mademoiselle," I answered very softly; "I can take no payment."

Her eyes were lifted for a second. Their blue depths seemed dim. Then
they fell again.

"Oh, why will you not help me?" she