hfare, upon which M. d'Antimoine also had a perfect right to
walk.

In the course of this walk, while Jaune gallantly carried the
market-basket, the story that Rose already had heard from the Count
Siccatif de Courtray was told again--but told with a very different
coloring. For Mademoiselle Carthame clearly perceived how great the
sacrifice had been that Jaune had made for her sake, and how bravely,
because it was for her sake, it had been made. There was real pathos in
his voice; once or twice he nearly broke down. Possibly it was because
she did not wish him to see her eyes that she manifested so marked an
interest in the shop windows as they walked along.

"And so that adorable Marquis was unreal?" queried Mademoiselle
Carthame sadly, and somewhat irrelevantly, when Jaune had told her all.

"He was not adorable. He was a disgusting beast!" replied M.
d'Antimoine savagely.

"I--I loved him!" answered Rose, turning upon Jaune, at last, her black
eyes. They did not sparkle, as was their wont, but they were
wonderfully lustrous and soft.

Jaune looked down into the market-basket and groaned.

"And--and I love him still. I think, I--I hope, that he will live
always in my heart."

The voice of Mademoiselle Carthame trembled, and her hand grasped very
tightly the bag of carrots that they had been unable to make a place
for in the basket: they were coming back from the market now.

Jaune did not look up. For the life of him he could not keep back a
sob. It was bitter hard, he felt, that out of his love for Rose should
come love's wreck; and harder yet that the rival who had stolen her
from him should be himself! Through the mist of his misery he seemed to
hear Rose laughing softly. Could this be so? Then, indeed, was the
capstone set upon his grief!

"Jaune!"

He started, and so violently that a cabbage, with half a dozen potatoes
after it, sprang out of the basket and rolled along the pavement at her
feet. His bowed head rose with a jerk, and their eyes met full. In hers
there was a look half mocking, that as he gazed changed into
tenderness; into his, as he saw the change and perceived its meaning,
there came a look of glad delight.

"As though you could deceive _me_! Why, of course, I knew you from the
very first!"

Then they collected the potatoes and the cabbage and walked slowly on,
and great happiness was in their hearts.

The world was a brighter world for Jaune d'Antimoine when he gave into
Rose's