t wishing him to think too much on the subject) that she
had been too quick-tempered.

"Yes," she had said, frankly, "I am jealous; I want things to myself. I
own I was angry when I thought that Jacqueline was about to throw off
my authority, and hurt when I found she was capable of keeping up a
concealment--when I believed she was so open always with me. My behavior
was foolish, I acknowledge. But what can we do? Neither of us can go and
ask her pardon?"

"Of course not," said the father, "all we can do is to treat her with a
little more consideration for the future; and, with your permission, I
shall use her illness as an excuse for spoiling her a little."

"You have carte blanche, my dear, I agree to everything." So M. de
Nailles, with his daughter's arm in his, began to spoil her, as he had
intended.

"You are still rather pale," he said, "but sea-bathing will change all
that. Would you like to go to the seaside next month?"

Jacqueline answered with a little incredulous smile:

"Oh, certainly, papa."

"You don't seem very sure about it. In the first place, where shall we
go? Your mamma seems to fancy Houlgate?"

"Of course we must do what she wishes," replied Jacqueline, rather
bitterly.

"But, little daughter, what would you like? What do you say to Treport?"

"I should like Treport very much, because there we should be near Madame
d'Argy."

Jacqueline had felt much drawn to Madame d'Argy since her troubles, for
she had been the nearest friend of her own mother--her own dead mother,
too long forgotten. The chateau of Madame d'Argy, called Lizerolles, was
only two miles from Treport, in a charming situation on the road to St.
Valery.

"That's the very thing, then!" said M. de Nailles.

"Fred is going to spend a month at Lizerolles with his mother. You might
ride on horseback with him. He is going to enjoy a holiday, poor fellow!
before he has to be sent off on long and distant voyages."

"I don't know how to ride," said Jacqueline, still in the tone of a
victim.

"The doctor thinks riding would be good for you, and you have time
enough yet to take some lessons. Mademoiselle Schult could take you
nine or ten times to the riding-school. And I will go with you the first
time," added M. de Nailles, in despair at not having been able to
please her. "To-day we will go to Blackfern's and order a habit--a
riding-habit! Can I do more?"

At this, as if by magic, whether she would or not, the lines of sad