nd
that gentleman in the retreat which he has so suddenly seen fit to
seek." Madame de St. Andre blushed and bit her lip. "'Tis the first
time I have ever told a woman I loved her," said Calvert, "and I would
rather tell her in my own blunt fashion. If she loves me, she will know
the things my heart tells her, but which my lips are too unskilled to
translate."

"Ah, we women are too wise to try to divine unspoken things; we scarce
dare believe what we are told," and the young girl laughed lightly.

"Yet I think you once paid me the compliment of saying that you believed
me sincere," said poor Calvert.

"'Tis true--there is something about you which compels belief--'tis your
eyes, I think," and then, throwing off the seriousness with which she
had spoken, she added, jestingly: "But in truth, sir, it is too much to
ask of me to believe that I am the first woman you have ever loved."

"It is nevertheless true," said Calvert, quietly.

"And you told me you could make no fine phrases!" cried the young girl,
with a gesture of pretended disappointment, and glancing with eyes full
of amusement at Calvert.

"I pray you to still that spirit of mockery and listen to me," said the
young man, turning to her with passion. As Adrienne looked at his white
face and heard the sternness in his voice, the laughter faded from her
eyes.

"I have never known the love of a mother or sister. It is true what I
have told you, whether you believe it or not, that you are the first and
only woman I have loved. And I think I have loved you ever since that
night, years ago at Monticello, when d'Azay showed me your miniature. I
have loved you when you were kind and unkind to me. I love you now,
although I do not dare to hope that you love me in return. I can offer
you nothing," he went on, hurriedly, seeing that she would have stopped
him. "I can offer you nothing but this love and a home over the sea.
'Tis a pretty place, though it would doubtless seem to you poor enough
after the splendors of Versailles and Paris," he says, smiling ruefully;
"but we might be happy there. Is it impossible?"

As she looked into Calvert's serious eyes, lighted with a glow she had
never seen in them, there swept over her that admiration for him which
she had felt before. But she conquered it before it could conquer her.

"Impossible. Ah, you Americans want everything. You have triumphed over
the English; do you wish to conquer France, too? I am not worth being