monsieur?" said M. de Chateaurien.

Chapter Four

There fell a clear September night, when the moon was radiant over town
and country, over cobbled streets and winding roads. From the fields the
mists rose slowly, and the air was mild and fragrant, while distances
were white and full of mystery. All of Bath that pretended to fashion or
condition was present that evening at a fete at the house of a country
gentleman of the neighborhood. When the stately junket was concluded, it
was the pleasure of M. de Chateaurien to form one of the escort of Lady
Mary's carriage for the return. As they took the road, Sir Hugh Guilford
and Mr. Bantison, engaging in indistinct but vigorous remonstrance with
Mr. Molyneux over some matter, fell fifty or more paces behind, where
they continued to ride, keeping up their argument. Half a dozen other
gallants rode in advance, muttering among themselves, or attended laxly
upon Lady Mary's aunt on the other side of the coach, while the happy
Frenchman was permitted to ride close to that adorable window which
framed the fairest face in England.

He sang for her a little French song, a song of the voyageur who dreamed
of home. The lady, listening, looking up at the bright moon, felt a warm
drop upon her cheek, and he saw the tears sparkling upon her lashes.

"Mademoiselle," he whispered then, "I, too, have been a wanderer, but my
dreams were not of France; no, I do not dream of that home, of that dear
country. It is of a dearer country, a dream country--a country of gold
and snow," he cried softly, looking it her white brow and the fair,
lightly powdered hair above it. "Gold and snow, and the blue sky of a
lady's eyes!"

"I had thought the ladies of France were dark, sir.

"Cruel! It is that she will not understan'! Have I speak of the ladies
of France? No, no, no! It is of the faires' country; yes, 'tis a
province of heaven, mademoiselle. Do I not renounce my allegiance to
France? Oh, yes! I am subjec'--no, content to be slave--in the lan' of
the blue sky, the gold, and the snow.

"A very pretty figure," answered Lady Mary, her eyes downcast. "But does
it not hint a notable experience in the making of such speeches?"

"Tormentress! No. It prove only the inspiration it is to know you."

"We English ladies hear plenty of the like sir; and we even grow
brilliant enough to detect the assurance that lies beneath the
courtesies of our own gallants."

"Merci! I should believe so!" ejac