ng the troublesome question
proposed.

Occasionally she glanced towards the Marquise as though in expectation
of a continuation of the subject. But the Marquise was engrossed by
her embroideries, and when she did speak again it was of some entirely
different matter.

CHAPTER III.

Two mornings later M. Dumaresque stood in the Caron reception room
staring with some dissatisfaction across the breadth of green lawn
where the dryad and faun statues held vases of vining and blooming
things.

He had just been told the dowager was not yet to be seen. That was
only what he had expected; but he had also been told that the
Marquise, accompanied, as usual, by Madame Blanc, had been out for two
hours--and that he had not expected.

"Did she divine I would be in evidence this morning?" Then he glanced
in a pier glass and grimaced. "Gone out with that plain Madame Blanc,
when she might have had a treat--an hour with me!"

While he stood there both the Marquise and her companion appeared,
walking briskly. Madame Blanc, a stout woman of thirty-five, was
rather breathless.

"My dear Marquise, you do not walk, you fly," she gasped, halting on
the steps.

"You poor dear!" said the Marquise, patting her kindly on the
shoulder. "I know you are faint for want of your coffee," and at the
same time her strong young arms helped the panting attendant mount the
steps more quickly.

Once within the hall Madame Blanc dropped into the chair nearest the
door, while the Marquise swept into the reception room and hastily to
a window fronting on the street.

"How foolish of me," she breathed aloud. "How my heart beats!"

"Allow me to prescribe," said Dumaresque, stepping from behind the
screen of the curtain, and smiling at her.

She retreated, her hands clasped over her breast, her eyes startled;
then meeting his eyes she began to laugh a little nervously.

"How you frightened me!"

"And it was evidently not the first, this morning."

She sank into a seat, indicated another to him, away from the window,
removed her hat and leaned back looking at him.

"No, you are not," she said at last. "But account for yourself,
Monsieur Loris! The sun is not yet half way on its course, yet you are
actually awake, and visible to humanity--it looks serious."

"It is," he agreed, smiling at her, yet a trifle nervous in his
regard. "I have taken advantage of the only hour out of the twenty
when there would be a chance of seeing you alone.