her map of Europe. And try as
he could, Paul could not bring himself to mention them.

At last the ridiculousness of the situation dawned on him. Suppose he
should boldly recall to Mademoiselle the _rencontre_ in the rustic
tea-house at Lucerne? Clearly, he might commit an unfortunate _faux
pas_ by such a move. No, he dared not speak to her of an incident so
unconventional. He must ignore the fact that he had ever seen her
before, unless she herself mentioned it. It was clear that she would
demand careful wooing. This was a time when he must keep himself well
in hand.

And just as Paul had reached this conclusion something happened--it
was but a little thing--that upset all his well-laid plans.

As the lady held out more tea for Paul and he drew near to take it, he
caught once more, as at Lucerne, the faintest breath of that strange
perfume so dear to his memory. His hand shook with such sudden
agitation that he set the cup upon the table, lest it fall.

The lady looked up quickly at Paul, and as he stood there over her
their eyes met fairly. All skillful fencing was over. The time had
come when the truth must be told.

"Let us drop the mask, Mademoiselle," he said with a slight choke in
his voice. Without warning the thrill of youth had fired his blood and
he cast prudence to the four winds. What mattered conventionality?
What mattered anything? He only knew that he cared more for her than
for all else in the whole world, and he took her hand in his with a
tumultuous heart.

"I love you, dear," he said simply. "You yourself are the beautiful
lady I have sought constantly since that time I first saw you, as I
looked up into the starry skies. At first I thought your eyes also
were stars."

She gazed up at him for a moment, her hand motionless in his, while
neither stirred.

"My heart misgives me!" she said then. "Words are so easily said--they
are often spoken idly--_pour passer le temps_--and soon forgotten. Ah!
Sir Paul! forgive me, I beg of you--if I was mad once. I promise
myself it shall never happen again. It was unfortunate--but there are
things one cannot explain."

"But I love you," Paul repeated.

"Are you sure it is love?" she asked him.

Ah! how well Paul knew now, and he bent toward the face of his dreams.

"No! no! not that!" she said, and rose from her place. "You don't know
what you do. Please go! go! quickly, for I must be alone."

And then as Paul hesitated for an instant, she fled thro