and she rose from the chair with a certain
decision. "It was a thoughtless, childish farce played there at
Fontainbleau. But--it is over. I--I have felt humiliated by that
episode, Monsieur. Young ladies in France do not converse with
strangers. Pray go back to England and forget that you found one so
indiscreet--oh! I know what you would say, Monsieur," as he was about
to speak. "I know many of these ladies of the court would only laugh
over such an episode--it would be but a part of their amusements for
the day; but I, I do not belong to the court or their fashions. I am
only ashamed, and ask that you forget it. I would not want any one to
think--I mean that I--"

She had commenced so bravely with her wise, firm little speech, but at
the finale she wavered and broke down miserably.

"Don't!"--he broke in as a tear fell on the fan she held; "you make
me feel like a brute who has persecuted you; don't cry. Come here to
the window; listen to me. I--I loved you that first day; you just
looked at me, spoke to me and it was all over with me. I can't undo
it. I can go away, and I _will_, rather than make you unhappy; but I
can't forget you. I have never forgotten you for an hour. That was
why. Oh, I know it is the wildest, maddest, most unpardonable thing I
am saying to you. Your friends would want to call me out and shoot me
for it, and I shall be happy to give them the chance," he added,
grimly. "But don't, for Heaven's sake, think that my memory of you
would be less than respectful. Why, I--I adore you. I am telling it to
you like a fool, but I only ask you to not laugh until I am out of
hearing. I--will go now--and do not even ask your forgiveness,
because--well I can't honestly say I am sorry."

Sorry! She thought of those days when she had wakened to a new world
because his eyes and his voice haunted her; she heard him acknowledge
the same power, and he spoke of forgiveness as though convicted of a
fault. Well, she had not been able to prevent the same fault, so, how
dared she blame him? He need not know, of course, how well she had
remembered; yet she might surely be a little kind for all that.

"Monsieur Incognito!"

Her voice had an imperious tone; she remembered she must not be too
kind. He was already among the palms, in the full light of the salon,
and he was boy enough for all the color to leave his face as he heard
the low command. She had heard him declare his devotion, yet she had
recalled him.

"Mad