A

HARLEQUIN

Book

AND BE THY LOVE

“If all the world and love were young, And truth in everyshepherd’s tongue, these pretty pleasures might me moveto live

with thee, and be thy love.”

The Nymph’s Reply to the Passionate Shepherd

AND BE THY LOVEBY

ROSE BURGHLEY

HARLEQUIN BOOKS

WINNIPEG - CANADA First printed in 1958 by Mills& Boon Limited, 50 Grafton Way, Fitzroy Square, London,England,

Harlequin edition published October, 1961

All the characters in this book have no existence

outside the imagination of the Author, and have no

relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name ornames. They are not even distantly inspired by anyindividual known or unknown to the

Author, and all the incidents are pure invention. ©RoseBurghley 1958 Printed in Canada

AND BE THY LOVE

CHAPTER I

Caroline had known for some time that the taxi wasbehaving in a way no well-conducted taxi should behave,and she was not therefore surprised when the driversuddenly brought it to a standstill and climbed down toexamine the contents of the antiquated bonnet. His flow ofFrench, as he did so, passed over her head; but when he

straightened and spread his hands and looked at herdolefully through the window she knew that the worst hadhappened.

She opened the door and joined him in the hot, dusty road.

“Can’t you make it go?” she asked.

The French taxi-driver looked a little pained.

“Go?” he repeated. “It is not that she will not go, but thejuice— as you say in England!—is all used up, and ofcourse I cannot make her move! Quelle affaire!” Heshrugged his shoulders. “What an abomination! What dowe do from here?”

“Where do we go from here, I think you mean,” Carolineheard herself correcting him automatically, and then shelooked at her large suitcase strapped securely to the gridand felt a little helpless. She couldn’t possibly carry thatsuitcase very far and the taxi-man didn’t look as if he wouldbe sufficiently obliging as to abandon his cab and bear iteven a short distance for her. And somehow she had thefeeling that the end of her journey was really quite close athand.

She looked about her at the unruffled countryside, andspared it a moment of heartfelt appreciation. It was reallyso little different from England, so green, so peaceful, sofamiliar—in spite of the fact that she had never seen it

before in her life—that she might not have crossed theChannel to get to it. There were trees running right down tothe edges of the winding white road, and between the treesthere were halcyon groves that beckoned. She couldimagine how deliciously cool it would be beneath thosespreading branches, and how sweet the grass would bothsmell and feel; and but for her predicament she would havestretched herself out on it there and then, and invited thetaxi-man to sit beside her. He had looked so hopeful whenhe had picked her up at the station, and answered herquery about the Chateau de Marsac, assuring her that itwas not more than a few kilometers away, and that he knewit well. But now he looked as if Fate had dealt him anunkind and rather spiteful blow.

“How far is the chateau from here?” Caroline asked, whileher only companion on that solitary road stood shaking hishead and frowning.

“How far, mad’moiselle?” He squared his shoulders, as ifthe action enabled him to think. “You could reach it throughthe woods. There is a road that eventually comes out on themain drive. But, me”—he looked at her as if it was entirelyher fault— ”how will I get back to Le Fontaine? How will Iget back to my garage?”

“Perhaps a car will come along and let you have somepetrol,” Caroline suggested. “Or tow you back.”

The taxi-man said something in French about theunlikelihood of pigs flying, since the road was so lonely, andso infrequently used. And then he began to unstrap hersuitcase.

“At least you will not wish to be without this,” he said.

“But I can’t possibly carry it far!” she objected.

He shrugged, and indicated the side of the road. “Thenleave it and you can collect it later. Or someone will collectit for you,” he amended.

“But supposing its stolen... ?” recalling that literally herentire wardrobe was contained inside that solitary suitcase.

“In France,” the Frenchman informed her grandly, “we haveno robbers, whatever may be the situation in Angleterre. ”

Later, as she trod the forest path alone, and her suit-casereposed beneath a heap of leaves beside the road, shehoped that although his statement sounded fantastic therewas at least a modicum of truth in it somewhere. Theevening—very early evening, when the June sun wasbeginning to turn a little red, and the gnats were flying high—was extremely peaceful, and it was a peacefulness thatmade the walk less of a penance than it might otherwisehave been. It couldn’t possibly have been any sort of apenance if she hadn’t been wearing a flannel suit, andheels that were never intended for woodland ways. And if

she hadn’t been carrying a rather outsize pouch handbag,and a present for Marthe Giraud that she had been unableto accommodate in the suit-case—and if she hadn’t beentravelling hard all day.

It seemed such a long time since she said farewell to thewhite cliffs of England, and although it was only a temporaryfarewell she already had the sensation that she hadtravelled long and far. She had been wrong about thefamiliarity of this sort of countryside. It was like nothing shehad ever been familiar with. There was somethingprimordial about it—unless it was the hour, and the silencethat hung suspended beneath the gigantic, spreadingbranches.

Great trunks rose up on either hand, and they were like thepillars of a cathedral soaring to the distant blue of the sky.She could catch glimpses of the sky every now and again,and there was a constant movement of feathered lifeagainst it as wings were spread and birds took off for otherbranches. The coolness, as she had known it would be,was delicious in this enchanting stillness; but the marvelwas that the stillness and the coolness went on and on,reaching into dim tunnels where it would have been onlyright to come upon a wood-cutter, or the habitation of awitch who thought it safest to avoid the haunts of men. Orperhaps a knight-at-arms loitering in the gloom beneath thetrees.

“O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering...?”

Caroline thought that if these spreading woods were theproperty of the Comte de Marsac then his ancestors mustat some time or other have ridden in armour through thelonely, lost world of whispering trees and wavering grasses,with flowers springing up to provide a touch of colour, andbrambles to reach out clutching hands—just as they soughtto clutch at her absurd little hat, and wrench it from herbeech-brown curls, and threatened the deep blue of hereyes that was so like the blue of the violets that probablygrew there in clumps in the spring.

Violets and primroses and bluebells, Caroline thought. Andremembered that Marthe had written glowingly of thebeauty of the de Marsac woods in the spring.

Marthe...! She began to feel a little anxious, lest Martheshould wonder what had happened to her. If she knewanything at all about Marthe she would have been watchingthe clock for ages, and without a doubt there would be amost appetising meal awaiting her. Marthe was a trueFrenchwoman in that preparing tempting dishes for otherpeople to consume was one of the joys of her existence;and by simply watching their faces when her culinarytriumphs were set before them on the table she receivedher greatest reward. For Marthe never failed, whether it

was crisp rolls hot out of the oven, a chicken spit-roastedand served with Garottes et Pots Parisiennes, or anomellette that was more like a chefs secret dream,Caroline, who wasn’t in the least hungry, felt her heart warmas she thought of Marthe eagerly awaiting her; and then shefound that the path forked, and eventually converged on torather an ill-kept drive. But once she stood on the drive andcaught her first glimpse of the house her heart grew warmerstill.

Charlemagne towers peered at their reflection in the quietwaters of a moat, and perhaps it was something to do withthe evening light, but the waters of the moat seemed crystalclear. There was no suggestion of lank weeds, or thefestering fungus of centuries dragging somewhere at thebottom of it. A terrace that seemed to be raised like aplatform in space was approached from the solid earth bygrey flights of steps, and even at that distance Carolinecould see the stone vases that decorated it, and theornamental lions and other creatures which crouched at thehead of the flight of steps. Before the house there wereformal gardens, which she had been given to understandwere overgrown, and at one side of it there were yew alleys—possibly also very much overgrown—and beyond it theforest trees went on and on. It was a little patch of sheerbeauty enclosed by chestnut, oak and ash, with the scent oflime floating on the wind; and whatever the shabbiness atclose quarters, in the distance it had the dignity andelegance of a very elderly lady so conscious of better days

and many triumphs that she didn’t even recognise that herdress was no longer strictly in the mode.

Caroline stopped beside a fallen tree trunk, and sat downon it to gaze her fill. Surely the Comte de Marsac, whoneglected his property so shamefully according to Marthe,would have been stirred, even as she was, by the mellowloveliness of it in this light? Surely the knowledge that it washis—something that had been handed down to him throughseveral centuries, passed from loving as well as carelesshands, cherished as well as perhaps occasionallydespised—would have caused something deep inside himto vibrate a little? With pride of ownership, if nothing else.

Caroline, who owned very little, and passed most of hertime— when she was not concocting doubtful meals over agas-ring in a London bed-sitter—in a dull lawyer’s office,would have given a year of her life to be able to say, withoutmaking any closer acquaintance with the place: “That is myhouse...! That is the chateau that has belonged to my familyfor generations...!”

But the Comte de Marsac spent most of his time in Paris,and he had long since dissipated everything that had beenhanded down to him apart from the chateau. There hadbeen a period of penury, and then the sort of success thatcomes almost out of the blue. He was a playwright—one ofthose who continuously pleased public taste—but themoney he made was directed to other interests than the

home of his ancestors. It had been allowed to fall graduallyinto a state of decay which caught at Marthe’s heart; andMarthe was the only one who laboured there nowadays—apart, that is, from a very old man from the village, whochopped wood, and carried water, and maintainedsomething in the nature of a highly productive kitchen-garden. So that:

“At least there is always the fresh salad, and the freshvegetables,” old Madame Giraud had written to thedaughter of the woman she had once served. “And you canleave it to Marthe to see to it that you are as comfortable asthose two hands can make you, ma petite! I have no doubtthat in common with most young women nowadays youhave the slenderness that is the result of too littlenourishment, and the fact that you have been so severely illis proof that you are cared-for. Pneumonia is not a thingthat attacks the truly robust!”

Caroline couldn’t help smiling a little as she wondered whatMarthe would say when she learned how she hadcontracted the pneumonia—not so much because she wasnot “truly robust,” but because there had been no one onhand when she had first gone down with a slight chill. Noone on the floor above her, no one on the floor below— andthe owner of the house, who lived in the basement, toodisinclined to climb several flights of stairs to ascertainwhether the only one of her lodgers who had not gone awayfor the Easter holiday was as well as she ought to be.

It had been very nearly too late when at last she was found,and it had taken her a long time to recover. First in hospital;then back in the dismal bed-sitter. And then Marthe hadwritten, saying: “Come to France, my little one, and let oldMarthe take care of you...! It is wrong that you should livealone! It is tres mauvais....!'

And here she was, looking towards the Chateau de Marsacon a June evening when the sun was near its setting, andfeeling a little unlike herself because she was tired, andbeauty always did something to her that was a little difficultto analyse. It was just as if part of herself took flight andknelt in homage... as it had done more than once before thepictures in the National Gallery, the pigeons fluttering at thefeet of Nelson in Trafalgar Square, the river twisting andturning near Henley, a Turner-esque sunset.... And now ruralFrance! A corner of France where a forlorn but beautifulhouse awaited her, which she could already see andadmire. She could watch the light slipping lower over theterrace, gilding the parapet, discovering diamond points inthe moat. Those Charlemagne towers seemed to bereaching up into a dim blue atmosphere that neverthelesshad a champagne clarity about it, and the trees behindthem were swaying in a sudden gust of air. But theshadows in the yew trees were growing longer and longer,and it was there that the ghosts of the past were walking,and probably always did walk at this hour....

She took off her hat and held it in her lap, and her hairstirred in the same light breath of wind that moved thetrees. It was rather long hair, forming bright wings on hershoulders, and she shook it back from her face, so that thesmooth delicacy of the latter was plainly revealed. That, andher sharply noticeable pallor, made her look a little like aghost herself, particularly as her suit was grey and mergedwith the greyness beneath the trees.

Behind her, in the ill-kept drive, a car came nosing its wayround the many bends, a long, rakish-looking car, pale asDevonshire cream, with a scarlet lining. Its occupant lookeda little rakish, too, with his hat reposing on the unoccupiedback seat, and his Indian- black hair lifting a little on hisforehead. His face was thin and brown, attractive ratherthan handsome, quizzical rather than humorous, and withone corner of the mouth definitely crooked. His eyes staredahead, surprisingly soft and brown like velvet, from underwell-marked infinitely black brows; and he was lying backgripping the wheel as if he was a little weary of doing so,but conscious that he was on the last lap of a journey. Andbecause he was on the last lap of a journey he sang softlybeneath his breath, a hit from one of the latest Parismusicals.

But the song came to an end in mid-air, as it were, when hecaught sight of the girl on the fallen tree-trunk, and a baresecond or so later his tyres protested as he applied hisbrakes. He sat looking across the space that separated

them at Caroline.

“I am perfectly sober,” he remarked, to no one in particular.“I did not even stop for lunch, and in fact I am too sober!Then there is something wrong with my eyes! That is theexplanation!”

Caroline turned and looked at him, and startled by the veryquestioning quality of his regard she got quickly to her feet.Still clutching her hat, her large pouch handbag, and thepresent for Marthe Giraud, she looked as if she wascontemplating immediate flight to the very heart of thewoods, where no one would ever find her again.

But he prevented that by alighting swiftly from his car andwalking towards her purposefully.

“You are real, mademoiselle.?” he demanded, when onlyone of his easy strides divided them—and he sounded as ifhe was still very doubtful. “Or is it the hour and the spot thathas conjured you up?”

Caroline stared back at him. There were laughter wrinklesat the corners of his eyes, but his voice was wholly serious.

“Of course I’m real,” she answered him at once, but hervoice was a shade breathless. “I’m—I’m on my way to thechateau.” “Indeed?” A look of exaggerated reliefoverspread his face. “And even at the chateau they do notyet entertain hobgoblins! So I can breathe again!” And then

he smiled at her with a flash of startlingly white teeth. “Andyou are English...! You reply to me in my own tongue, butwith an accent that is unmistakable! Excellent schoolgirlFrench as acquired in a very select seminary somewheredown on the south coast of England!”

“I went to school in Yorkshire,” she told him a little stiffly.“And I am supposed to have quite a fluent command ofFrench!” “Splendid!” he exclaimed, softly. “An English girlwho speaks French fluently—and on her way to thechateau. ”

“Can I give you a lift, mademoiselle? Or have you walked allthe way from England—from Yorkshire?—and are youproposing to continue the journey on foot?”

She felt suddenly as if exhaustion literally rushed up overher, and it was impossible to frame any more words. It hadbeen far too warm a day for a flannel suit, the train journeyhad been wearisome, the fact that her taxi had come togrief had caused her to walk at least a couple of kilos, andnow she found herself actually swaying a little on her feet.She put out a hand and clutched at him.

Instantly his expression changed, and she felt a strong armsupporting her, giving her back her strength.

“Hang on to me, little one!” he said. “It is that you are ‘all in’,as I’ve no doubt you would say!” His brown eyes searched

her face. “And that is why you looked so much like a ghostin the gloom!”

“My taxi broke down,” she explained weakly, takingadvantage of his invitation and clutching at the lapel of hisjacket— faultlessly tailored, as she discovered afterwards.

“The one that I came upon beside the road, a kilo or twofrom here? The driver was cursing his misfortune, but isnow on his way back to Le Fontaine. And you,” he addedgently, guiding her uncertain steps towards the car, “willsoon be at the chateau, in the care of the good Marthe.”

CHAPTER II

BUT man proposes, and other things dispose of hisapparently simple plans.

It would never have occurred to Caroline, while she wastravelling across France in an up-to-the-minute example ofthat country’s excellent type of rolling-stock, that MartheGiraud— who, so far as she knew, had never failedanything in her life— should have become giddy on a pairof kitchen-steps and fallen and broken her ankle. And thatwhile she herself was still admiring the scenery on eitherhand Marthe was in an ambulance on her way to the localhospital, where she was to remain for several weeks.

Marthe left behind her a note, a shining kitchen, and a well-stocked larder, but Caroline was not informed of these

things until a small glass of neat spirit had gone a long wayto putting fresh life into her. And even then she couldn’t takethem in. She sat with the empty brandy glass in her hand,disliking the unaccustomed taste in her mouth, and thinkingwhat a huge room it was in which the shadows seemed tobe lengthening moment by moment. There were mirrors onthe walls, and sparkling chandeliers descended from theceiling—at least, they would sparkle, she felt sure, ifsomeone depressed an electric light switch. Unless theplace was too remote for electricity. But, even so, a houseof this size and magnificence could surely generate its ownsupply?

And she was proved right about this when the slim darkman, with a kind of feline elegance about him, who haddriven her up to the house in his car, returned fromconducting a conversation with an agitated old man in thekitchen. The agitated old man was the hewer of wood, anddrawer of water, who had been present at the time of theaccident. But as yet Caroline knew nothing about this, andshe watched the room spring into radiance with a dull butdefinite feeling of appreciation.

The chandeliers didn’t merely sparkle, they looked likelarge clusters of diamonds overhead. And the walls of theroom were a kind of pale sea-green, very restful, veryreposeful, particularly as the ceiling repeated the colour-scheme; and if the paint-work was a little chipped andstained here and there, and gilded cornices and vine-

leaves wreathing graceful columns were a little tarnished, itdidn’t seem to matter very much, because the generaleffect was so altogether pleasing. At least, Caroline found itinfinitely pleasing. She was able to identify variousexamples of Empire furniture, in spite of the fact that agreat deal of it was shrouded in dust-covers; and a littleLouis Quinze writing-desk against the farther wall couldhardly have looked more in its element. And the portraitslooking down at her from their appropriate panelsappeared to be benign and smiling, as if they had noobjection at all to seeing her there.

There was one old gentleman in a full-bottomed wig whosent her quite an encouraging look, and a lovely lady, wholooked a bit as Madame Recamier must have looked in herheyday, parted her full red lips at her.

Unless it was the effect of the brandy!

“What a lovely room,” she heard herself murmuring, withgrowing appreciation. “What an absolutely perfect room!”

The dark man was frowning a little.

“I’m sorry I left you in the dark,” he apologised, “but affairshere are not so simple. In fact they are extremely complex.”

“Complex?” She looked up at him with a dreamyexpression in her eyes, and they were wood-violet eyes,heavy and languid with a desire for sleep. The fumes of the

brandy were definitely mounting a little, and she wishedMarthe would make her appearance, and that somesuggestion about a big bed with downy pillows would beforthcoming. It didn’t matter about food, because shewasn’t hungry, but her whole body was stiff after her journey,and she yearned to relax her limbs between cool sheets.“What is it that is so complex?” she asked.

“The fact that Marthe is not here,” he explained

“Marthe not here!”

She felt conscious of a shock. She had come all the wayfrom England, and Marthe wasn’t here...!

“There has been an accident.” He paced up and down infront of her, his cat-like strides fascinating her a little, thesinuous grace of his build fascinating her still more. Hewasn’t tall, he wasn’t short...and he struck her as having atremendous supply of vitality. Curious, restless vitality. Hislinen was immaculate and he looked as if he patronised themost expensive tailor; but there was something Continentalabout his tailoring—something very French. He was aFrenchman who hadn’t introduced himself, and she felt itwould be a little less confusing if she knew who he was.

“An—accident?” she repeated.

“Yes.” He stopped and smiled down at her one-sidedly, asif to soften the bad news. “It is Marthe who has met with an

accident.” And he explained exactly what had occurred.

“But this is terrible!” she exclaimed, and stood up, holding alittle unsteadily to the arms of her chair. “This is absolutelyterrible! Poor Marthe!”

“I agree.” He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders in anextremely French gesture. “But there it is, and the problemwe have to decide is how we may overcome theawkwardness that it entails. You, for instance...! Perhapsyou will be good enough to inform me, mademoiselle, whoyou are, and why precisely you are visiting here? Pierreunderstands that Marthe invited you as her guest.”

“Pierre?” she echoed.

“The gardener and odd-job man.”

“Oh, yes.” She remembered Marthe had sometimesreferred to Pierre in her letters. “And he is right. My name isCaroline Darcy—not spelt as you would spell it, but as if itwas all one word—and I did come here to stay with Marthe.She invited me. She didn’t think the Comte de Marsacwould mind, because he never comes here himself, and heis just letting the place go to rack and ruin.”

She frowned because the brandy had fired her indignation,and having seen what a truly beautiful old place thechateauwas at close quarters she felt she could neverforgive the Comte de Marsac. He must be a man of

forgive the Comte de Marsac. He must be a man ofexecrable taste if he could neglect this delightful property,and choose to live in Paris. The nearest she had come toseeing Paris for herself was when she passed through it ina train; but a spreading mass of bricks and mortar,however elegantly planned, was too reminiscent of Londonto appeal to her strongly. And Paris wasn’t even London. Itwasn’t as respectable as London! It was associated in hermind with the Folies Bergere, the Moulin Rouge,Montmartre and the Left Bank. Whereas when one thoughtof London one thought of Hyde Park and BuckinghamPalace, the Horse Guards and the Mansion House.

“I think it’s a crime to allow a building that has been left toone by one’s ancestors to fall into a state of decay,” shedeclared quite decidedly, although so far she hadn’t hadmuch evidence of actual decay. “It’s a failure of trust, andthe Comte de Marsac must be lacking all sense ofresponsibility to behave as he does. His forbears wouldhardly be proud of him, especially as he makes a lot ofmoney writing plays. I don’t suppose they’re very worthwhileplays.”

“You think not, Mademoiselle Darcy?” as if her opinioninterested him.

“Marthe has indicated in her letters that they’re ratherdoubtful plays—the sort of entertainment Parisiansprobably

enjoy.”

“Indeed?” and his dark eyebrows ascended a good deal.“You know Paris, Miss Darcy?”

She had to admit that she didn’t know it at all, although shehad passed through it that day, and his expression grew alittle curious. She even thought there was a kind of coolhumour about the set of the lips.

“Then you are hardly in a position to state with any accuracythe type of entertainment Parisians enjoy,” he remarkeddrily. “But I can confirm that de Marsac does appeal to whatyou would probably describe as the least respectableelement of our capital’s teeming life.”

As she flushed a little, as if she was wondering why she hadlet her tongue run away with her about a man in whosehouse she was proposing to stay, he went on: “However, allthis is hardly relevant at the moment. What is relevant is thatyou have arrived on a visit and there is no one to look afteryou!”

“No one?” a little more falteringly. “Oh, of course, Marthehas always lived here alone. But I can look after myself—unless you think I’d be intruding at such a time...?” “There isno question of intrusion, but you are quite obviously not in avery robust state of health at the moment.”

“I have been ill,” she admitted, “but I’m much better now.

And I’m used to looking after myself... ”

“Then, if you’ll forgive me, mademoiselle,” he said suavely,taking in through narrowed eyes the pallor of the small face,and the smudged mauve shadows beneath her eyes, andat the corners of the rather revealing mouth, “for saying so,the indications are that you do not do it with very muchefficiency! Unless the illness was of a particularlydevastating nature?”

“It was pneumonia,” she said briefly.

“That was bad,” he observed, and his brown eyesexpressed so much sympathy all in a moment that it was alittle disconcerting. “That was very bad!”

“But not as bad as this thing that has happened to Marthe!”she exclaimed, clinging agitatedly to the arms of her chair.“Where is she? Have they taken her to hospital? What dothey say about her? Will I be allowed to visit her soon... ?”

“Not until you yourself have had a considerable amount ofrest, I should say,” with an imperturbableness that made herfeel angry. “And as to Marthe, she is at the moment quitecomfortable, and everything is being done for her that canbe done. I have already spoken over the telephone to thehospital authorities, and nothing will be lacking in hertreatment. She left behind her a note for you, andinstructions about your room, which is all ready for you. And

judging by the contents of the larder the house is wellprovisioned.”

“You seem to have found out quite a lot in a short time”Caroline remarked, regarding him for the first time a littlesuspiciously. “You—you know your way about the house!Are you”—a fresh suspicion entering her mind—”a friend ofthe Comte de Marsac... ?”

“You have hit upon it right away,” he declared, making her asmall, formal bow. “I am Robert de Bergerac—if not deMarsac’s closest friend, at least sufficiently close to win hispermission to stay here occasionally—very much at yourservice! And one of the complications confronting us is thatyour and my plans seem to have coincided, for I, too, havearrived on a visit...”

“You mean,” in a small, dismayed voice, “that you plan tostay here?”

“Did plan to stay here,” he reassured her, “but, naturally,now there will have to be some amendment to my plans.There is a small cottage in the woods not far from herewhere I have put up before, and I have no doubt I shall find itfairly habitable.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair to you!” she declared agitatedly.“You are a friend of the Comte, and you have stayed herebefore. Whereas I -- ”

“‘Whereas you, Mademoiselle Darcy,” with a whimsicalgleam in his eyes, “must be a friend very highly esteemedby our excellent Marthe, judging by the preparations shehas made for you! There are at least two hot-water bottlesin your bed— according to Pierre!—a couple of cookedducklings in the larder, and enough tarts, cheeses andsavouries to propitiate the appetite of a regiment! And whatI suggest is that you go straight upstairs to your room, andalthough old Pierre has an invalid sister whom he cannotleave for long, I will persuade him to bring you a tray ofsomething light—that is if you have no objections to a verywithered, very gnarled old man whose age none of us canguess at visiting you in your apartment...?” “/have noobjection at all,” she assured him, thinking that he really hadgot the situation in hand, but feeling horribly guilty becauseshe was about to exclude him from his rightful quarters. “Butif the cottage has not been looked after for some time, andis perhaps damp, and in any case not ready for you-------------------------------?”

“Don’t give it a thought,” he said carelessly, as if a damp,unprepared cottage was something he could take in hisstride, although from his appearance a far more luxuriousbackground was his daily lot. “After driving all the way fromParis I could sleep like a log in a bivouac to-night! But if youwill tell me if there is anything I can do to be of assistance toyou ?”

And then she remembered her case, and told him all about

it, and the pile of leaves beneath which it was concealed.She looked so concerned at this belated recollection of herfew worldly possessions that he promised he would set offand recover them for her without delay; and not for the firsttime she thought that, although he was obviously a verydebonair man of the world, and a little more humouroccasionally dwelt in his eyes than the situation, and thisdisaster that had overtaken Marthe, seemed to call for,there was also something warmly practical about him— as,for instance, when he had prevented her from collapsing onthe drive, and decided immediately that she was sufferingfrom pure exhaustion and nothing else. That ought to havecommended itself to her, even if she was a little loath for itto do so.

He insisted on holding her arm as they walked out into thehall, and there old Pierre was waiting, as if he had beenordered to do so, and looking a little bewildered, as if thepassage of events had stunned him a little. He had agoatee beard, and shoulders so bent that he waspractically a hunchback, and his eyes were dim withrheumatism as they looked towards Caroline.

“If you will follow me, mademoiselle, I will show you to yourroom,” he said.

And then Robert de Bergerac took him aside and saidsomething to him in such rapid French that the English girlcouldn’t possibly follow it, and the old man nodded several

times.

“It shall be as you say, monsieur. If that is as you wish,monsieur, it shall be as you say!”

But he sounded rather more than surprised, and his rheumyeyes blinked as if he had been taken aback.

Then Caroline was following him up the magnificentstaircase, that uncurled like a fan until it reached a galleryoverhanging the well of the hall. Their footsteps echoed onthe stone floor; faded tapestries fluttered a little on the wallsas they passed—father like banners stirring in a suddencurrent of air—and giant coffers and chests encroachedupon the uncarpeted space over which they trod in order toreach a distant wing of the house. But once they reached it,it was well worth it, for the entire dying light of day wasconcentrated there, like a golden, last-minute benison.

Caroline’s room, with a decidedly old-fashioned bathroomadjoining, enchanted her the moment she entered it. Itoverlooked a pleasance at the back of the house, andalthough from the window it was a very overgrownpleasance, its unkemptness, she felt sure, would provide acompelling charm in the daytime. She felt sure she wouldlove to wander there whenever the opportunity was hers.

A smell of white, climbing roses reached her as she stoodfor a moment beside the open window, and she inhaled

deeply. A bat flew past the window, and an owl hooted insome trees close to the house. And as there were so manytrees crowding close to the house she had the feeling thatthere would be many owls hooting.

But she was not one of those people who found the noise ofthem mournful, and they emphasised the fact that she wasdeep in the heart of the country at last. All at once, in spiteof Marthe’s accident, the concern she felt for her lying in hernarrow hospital bed, the depression that had overtaken herbecause there was to be no one after all to welcome herafter her long journey from England,

and the peculiarity of her position in this strange house, alittle glow of warmth stole round her heart because she wasactually here. She was happy because she had arrived.

Pierre said something about Marthe keeping the boiler sowell stoked during the early part of the day that the waterwould be hot enough for a bath if she wanted one, and shethanked him for the information. He hung about awkwardly,saying he would bring her a tray, as Monsieur de Bergerachad requested; but after that he would have to leavebecause his sister was nervous of being left alone for long,especially after dark, and her health permitting he would bealong in the morning. He was not much of a cook, but hewould attend to the breakfast.... An English breakfast if theEnglish mademoiselle insisted upon it....

Caroline tossed her hat on the bed, and slipped out of herjacket, and suddenly she made up her mind. She no longerfelt as if the fumes of brandy were clouding her brain, andshe no longer felt that overpowering desire to slidebetween some sheets. The sheets were there on the well-made bed, and they looked as if they would smell fragrantlyof lavender or dried rosemary when at last she tested thecomfort of the mattress. But in the meantime she could, andwould, bestir herself, and Pierre needn’t bother about a trayfor her, but could go home at once to his invalid sister.There was food in the larder, and she could make somecoffee, and that slim, dark friend of the Comte de Marsac—who, incidentally, might object to her making free with hishouse when his housekeeper was no longer there; and shewould probably have to look for some hotelaccommodation in the morning—would probably like somecoffee also before seeking that benighted cottage he hadmentioned in the woods.

She wasn’t happy about the cottage, and she wonderedwhether she ought to be the one to offer to spend the nightthere. But somehow she couldn’t quite see the curiouslyfeline gentleman who called himself Robert of Bergeracagreeing to that.

But she was able to insist on Pierre going home to hissister, and he looked plainly very relieved as he allowedhimself to be dismissed. She heard his footsteps echoingalong the gallery as he scuttled away, and it wasn’t until she

watched him making his shadowy way across the terraceimmediately below her window, and taking advantage of agap in some shrubbery to disappear altogether, that sheknew a momentary feeling of nervousness because shewas alone in the chateau. A very, very old chateau, withwoods shutting it in on three sides.

The primordial forest, as she had thought of it earlier.CHAPTER III

BUT she was in the kitchen, competently getting down tothe task of making the coffee when Robert de Bergeracreturned with her suit-case.

He stood in the doorway watching her as she stoodbeneath the cavernous roof, one of Marthe’s aprons tiedround her slender middle, her bright hair making a kind ofhalo for her face as the naked electric-light bulb sent itsrays down upon it. The stove was very black and very shiny,and Marthe’s saucepans and kettles were all very shinyalso. The big scrubbed kitchen table looked white as milkin the centre of the room, and at the far end the dresser wascrowded with china that looked like Willow Pattern.

Caroline had brought out one of the cooked ducklings, anda bowl of salad. She had cut up a crisp, long loaf, andplaced butter in a crock, and sliced new potatoes she hadfound already prepared, and garnished them withmayonnaise and sticks of celery. And now she was

watching the coffee bubbling in the percolator, and thesmell was filling the kitchen, and Robert de Bergeracremembered once more that he hadn’t stopped for

lunch.

His eyes looked almost wistful with hunger as he steppedinto the middle of the kitchen, but he said disapprovingly:

“What is this? Did we not agree upon a tray for youupstairs? Where is Pierre?”

“I sent him home,” Caroline told him. She looked into thebrown velvet depths of his eyes, and was glad she had sentPierre home. “I thought you might need something to eatyourself.”

“I could have attended to myself.”

“Instead of which I have made you some coffee!”

“It smells good,” he admitted. He had left her suit-case inthe hall, and now he stood within a foot of her. He looked ather searchingly. “You have recovered,” he said, in faintsurprise. “I imagined you were going to be in need of agreat deal of attention—perhaps a doctor’s attention!—instead of which you are all at once quite fresh!”

“You gave me rather a strong dose of brandy,” sheanswered, smiling. “And I’m not used to neat spirit.”

“Perhaps not to spirit of any kind?”

“No. Mineral water is my only departure from tea andcoffee.” “Mineral water? Ugh!” He made a face, and thenpulled out a chair for her at the table. “But you must sit downat once, because you still look as if a strong puff of windmight blow you away.” And then his look gloated over thespread she had set out on the table. “All that is lacking is abottle of wine, which I have in the car. If you will start carvingthe duck I will fetch it.”

When he returned she protested that it might be safest ifshe didn’t touch the wine, but his insistence carried the day.Then, although she hadn’t very much appetite herself, shewatched him eat hungrily. The cold duck became lesseasily recognisable as a cold duck, the bowl of salademptied, a fruit tart served with cream practically vanished.De Bergerac sighed a little over the quality of the pastry,which, he declared, did Marthe Giraud more than justice.

“But she always had a wonderfully light hand with this sort offlaky pastry that melts in the mouth. I have even watched hermake it, and been amazed at her expeditiousness. She isan extraordinary woman—a most capable woman!”

“You know her well?” Caroline asked, as he helped himselfto cheese.

“Well?” He paused with his knife poised above a very ripe

Camembert. “Of course I know her well! I have known herfor years. That is, I have stayed here many times in the lastfew years.”

“And you also know the Comte de Marsac well?”“Armand?” He inspected the cheese as if he had neverseen anything quite like it before. “I have explained that weare close friends, but to say that one knows a man wellwould be a little unwise. How few people know eventhemselves really well? Armand has, no doubt, severalsides to him, but the side I know I have found reasonablyeasy to get on with. But that may be because I amreasonably easy to get on with myself.”

He flashed her one of his slightly crooked smiles, whichcertainly proved that he was not difficult to get to know atthe outset, anyway—perhaps because there wassomething queerly infectious about the twistedattractiveness of that smile, and his eyes were all mellowcharm when they were not slightly inscrutable.

“You are not drinking your wine, Miss Darcy,” and hepushed her wine-glass towards her. “Believe me, it is quiteinnocuous, and there is no slightest danger that you willhave to be carried upstairs to your room.”

She flushed, her pale cheek warming as if the bloodactually rose in a rush to the exquisitely fair skin, againstwhich the chestnut curls tapped gently with every slightest

movement of her head.

His eyes twinkled at her with sudden mischief.

“But I promise you that should it become necessary I willdeposit you inside your room without your even noticinghow many bends there are to the staircase here, or what adistance it is to the wing in which you have been placed.”

“It seems absurd,” she said quickly, “that I should beoccupying an entire wing, while you have to spend the nightin a derelict cottage.”

“I haven’t said that it is derelict, but the conventions demandthat I do spend the night there even if the roof has collapsedsince I last saw the inside if it!” his eyes twinkling still more.

But she looked concerned.

“Is there any likelihood that it has collapsed?”

He shrugged slightly.

“In this world all things are possible, and on the de Marsacestate a great many things are highly probable! You wereright about the place going to rack and ruin, but that isbecause de Marsac has other things to occupy his mind.He is a playwright, you understand? And a playwright hasmany things to think about that have nothing to do with thepreservation of ancient bricks and mortar.”

“Then it is high time he did start thinking about preservingthem,” Caroline said a little hotly, with a return of herresentment against the Comte.

“You could be so very right,” de Bergerac agreed, offeringher a cigarette from a gold case that appeared to havesome sort of a monogram, or crest, engraved on it. “But”—and he shrugged again—”you could also be a littleunrealistic, for how may a man keep track of the manycottages he possesses—and the condition of their roofs!—when he lives so many miles away in a big and bustlingcity?”

“He could sell the cottages before they collapse altogether— and the house!”

“But that would not please his ancestors!”

Caroline looked at him a little suspiciously.

“Does the Comte de Marsac ever bother about ancestors?”He looked back at her with all sorts of little lights dancing inhis eyes.

“Sometimes I feel sure he does, mademoiselle “ he toldher. “Sometimes I am convinced they intrude on him atmoments when he would be happy if they would remainquietly in their vaults in the churchyard here, and allow himto forget that he is

the last of a long and illustrious line! For it is not enoughnowadays to be the last of a line, and—again!—how may aman concentrate on writing plays (doubtful plays, as we areagreed, which nevertheless please the mob!) while hisancestors keep whispering to him over his shoulder of themouldering condition of his chateau, and the tenants whopress for watertight roofs? I ask you?” and he spread hisslim and shapely hands.

Caroline regarded him thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t it occur to him that the tenants have a right towater-tight roofs?”

He shook his head at her.

“Doesn’t it occur to you, mademoiselle, that I do not knowwhether the roof beneath which I am to sleep to-night iswatertight?”

And then he indicated the coffee cups, and suggestedcarrying them into the small salon.

“At least we shall be more comfortable there, and it is alittle less like a museum than most of the larger rooms. Thegood Marthe may enjoy this distinctly bare kitchen, but tome this naked electric light is a little depressing.” Heinsisted that she put her feet up on a striped Empire couchonce they entered the small salon, and having placed her

coffee cup at her elbow on a little table inlaid with delicatewoods went and stood in the opening of the french window.The scent of the climbing white roses reached them, andstars pricked the velvety gloom of the night outside. An owlhooted, and this time Caroline thought the sound a littlemelancholy—perhaps because she knew she was so soonto be alone.

“Isn’t it rather late?” she said diffidently. “If you are going toyour cottage, oughtn’t you to be on your way?” “All in goodtime,” he replied. “And if the cottage fails there is alwaysthe inn in the village.”

“How far is the village from here?”

“About a mile and a half—two kilos, as we would say. Two

kilos too far away when you are to be left alone here,”turning and regarding her thoughtfully.

“I don’t mind,” she assured him, while the owl hooted again.“I don’t mind at all”

“Don’t you?” But she thought that his eyes gleamed a littlewith a queer sort of amusement. “You are not afraid to beleft alone in an old house, so full of the ghosts of which Ithought you were one when I came upon you in the driveearlier this evening?”

“If there are ghosts here,” she replied, to give herself

confidence, “I am quite sure they are all very kindly ones.”His smile appeared, and grew slightly mocking.

“That is because you know nothing at all about de Marsac’sfamily. In the past there have been good de Marsacs andbad de Marsacs, rather wayward de Marsacs,reprehensible de Marsacs. But never one, I should say,quite like the present Comte.”

He came and sat beside her in a Louis XV armchair. “Doyou think he would object to—to my being here?” sheasked, with even greater diffidence. “I mean—a friend ofhis housekeeper, and that housekeeper not here...” “Whyshould he?” de Bergerac returned softly. “If there is onething about Armand that none of his friends would dispute itis that he has an eye for a pretty face! Yours, MademoiselleDarcy, would enchant him, I feel sure!”

He could almost feel her stiffen on the settee.

“Perhaps I had better explain,” she said, in rather a primtone, “that Marthe took it upon herself to invite me herebecause of my illness. She thought that I needed a change,and also to be looked after. But the Comte de Marsacmight not approve of having his house turned into a kind ofunofficial convalescent home.”

“Without any staff to do the necessary looking after,” deBergerac murmured. “Nevertheless, since you are here we

must see to it that someone takes you under their wing.” Heblew a cloud of fragrant cigarette smoke towards the gildedceiling, and without answering her latest query asked moreabruptly: ‘‘What did Marthe tell you about the owner of thischateau, mademoiselle? Apart from passing on to you theinformation that you would not approve of his plays!”

Caroline hesitated a moment, unwilling to involve Marthe,and realising that this was a friend of the Comte who wastrying to extract information.

“It wasn’t so much what she said,” she hedged, “but what Igathered.... And naturally Marthe has a certain loyaltytowards her employer.”

“Naturally—being Marthe!”

“But when I arrived here ------- ”

“And saw the desolation!” He shook his head sadly. “Theproof of the pudding was in the eating, as you might say!The absentee-owner who does not care that his home ismore or less falling about his ears! All this I understand,Mademoiselle Caroline—although if you will forgive me Iwill call you Mademoiselle Carol, for it suits you better, andis not nearly so severe—and there is no reason why youshould attempt to conceal your opinions from me, or tosoften them, close friend though I may be of de Marsac.”“Yes, but—how close?” she queried a little uncertainly. “We

went to school together.”

“I see.”

“And we were both at one time very hard up together, andwe share an interest in a little bookshop in the Rue deRivoli—and it is from this bookshop that I derive the bulk ofmy income. But do not be misled about the size of this bulk,for it is very light bulk indeed, and without Armand’sassistance I would undoubtedly starve.”

“You mean that he helps you?”

“He is of a very generous disposition, and prevents methinking longingly sometimes of ending my days in theriver.”

“The—the Seine?”

“There is only river that we Frenchmen think of as worthy ofbeing called a river, and that is of course the Seine!”

Caroline regarded him under eyelids that were growing alittle heavy again, and the long eyelashes that fringed themlooked as if they wanted to flutter down and remain lyinglimply on her cheeks. She was conscious of wearinessdragging over her, washing over her brain so that shebegan to feel confused, and in the midst of this confusionshe decided that their conversation was a little odd. Forthere was a twinkle in his eyes that had nothing to do with

ending anyone’s days in any sort of a river.

“You—you must like one another,” she said, rather feebly.

He made one of his exaggerated French gestures.

“But that is not to say that we approve of one another!Armand’s reputation is not, you understand, abovereproach? It is, as you would say in England, a little ‘blownupon’! By which I mean it is a little besmirched, and whenthose who lead the exemplary life discuss him in theirexemplary circles many heads are shaken a little sadly. Forhe is the last of his name, unmarried, and with not even aclose male relative to whom the title can descend...! It isreally very sad!” He shook his own head sadly. “Wine,women and song! Late nights and later risings the nextday...! Long hours spent wrestling with those eternal plays,and nothing more worthwhile to do anything at all for hisreputation!”

“But the plays are highly successful?”

“They bring him in a lot of money—yes!”

“Which he shares with you.”

“I receive the occasional odd cheque—and we mustn’tforget the bookshop!”

She looked at him through eyes that were swimming with

tiredness, trying to prevent his figure from actually blurringin front of her.

“You look fairly successful yourself to me,” she remarked.“Your clothes are expensive, your car ---------------------- ”

“Borrowed!” he exclaimed. “And, of course, Armand’s!”

“Really?”

“I assure you—really!”

“Then in that case you ought to be very grateful!” She feltrather strongly that he had cause to be extremely grateful“And however the Comte behaves you must approve ofhim. You haven’t any right to criticise!” “Dear little lady,” heassured her, in a slightly melancholy fashion, “it is not oneof my weaknesses to criticise. Wasn’t it one of your ownprotestant martyrs who said: ‘But for the grace of God theregoes John Bradford’... ?

I cannot claim to be as worthy as John Bradford, but------------”

Then, for the second time that day, he caught her as sheswayed slightly and put out a groping hand towards him. Helifted her off the settee and swung her up into his arms, andas he carried her out into the hall and up the stairs shethought drowsily that in spite of his slender build he must bevery strong, and very fit, for he bore her with ease, moving

swiftly along the ill-lighted corridors and not even breathingquickly when he finally set her down on her bed.

It was a huge four-poster, with cherubic faces peering ather from the mahogany columns that supported the tester;and he tugged back the faded brocade curtains so that sheshould have plenty of air. Then he went to the window andopened that wide for her, and returned to the bed andswitched on the bedside light. He looked down at her a littleanxiously.

“Can you manage?” he asked. “Or ought I to fetch someoneto look after you?”

She sent him a sleepy, grateful smile.

“No, I’ll be perfectly all right. But I’m simply dropping withsleep.”

“You’re sure? You’re not afraid to be left here alone?” Theviolet-blue eyes rewarded him with an even softer smile,and she barely shook her head.

“You wouldn’t like me to curl up like a dog on the mat?Outside your room, of course!”

She shook her head more vigorously.

But once he had left her alone she found herself thinking:Those eyes of his, so brown and velvety, were a little dog-

like when he wasn’t actually provoking her with a slightlyteasing smile. They were slightly audacious eyes at times,whimsical at others, calm and confident at others. Theynever looked away; she had noticed that they alwayssought to hold her glance.

It would be comforting to have him on the mat, but he had tobe on his way to his cottage.

And then, feeling more than ever confused by her thoughts,and by the languor that had clamped down on her like aleaden weight, she struggled out of her clothes and intobed.

CHAPTER IV

THE following morning, when she awakened, the sun wasstreaming into her room. When she looked from herwindow all the promise of the night before seemed to havematerialised and paraded itself before her eyes, and sheuttered a little gasp of sheer pleasure.

There was the overgrown tangle of garden, shut in andenclosed by high yew hedges. There were the secret walks,the little arbours, the fish-pond that was probably nowadaysempty of fish, the garden statuary. Leaning a little from herwindow Caroline made out and admired a graceful Pan-like figure poised on the brink of a rectangular pool thatwas a thicket of spreading water-lily leaves and opening

buds; and at the foot of a flight of time-worn steps leadingdown to a sunken rose-garden, a nymph stoodcomplacently amongst the roses.

The moat with its reflected towers was not visible on thisside of the house, but when Caroline made her way outsideat last her breath caught again as something like a pang ofadmiration actually shook her a little. For she had steppedout on to the terrace that created an illusion of being aplatform poised high in space, and she could look downinto the limpid water that slapped murmurously against thelower arches of the bridge that crossed it. Beneath thebridge a flotilla of moorhens was passing, and amongst thereeds on the farther bank a procession of tame ducks keptpace with it. Caroline, who had slept well and was feelingwonderfully refreshed, felt laughter bubble up in her at theway the ducks waddled, and they were plainly attempting tosupplement the breakfast which they might, or might not,have received, Marthe being no longer on hand to feedthem.

Caroline had been horrified when she looked at her watchon waking and discovered that it was nearly ten o’clock.And now she heard a slight noise behind her and turned tosee Pierre emerging through the little low arched doorwayshe had made use of herself, and beneath his arm was acheck table-cloth, and he carried a handful of cutlery.

“Monsieur le—Monsieur de Bergerac has asked me to

serve petit dejeunerout here in the open,” he said, a littleungraciously Caroline thought—until she also recognisedthat he looked a little harassed as he shuffled forward to atable that had already been set up near the parapet. Shesaid quickly, sympathising with him:

“Oh, but I was coming through to the kitchen to attend tomyself. There is no need for you to wait on me, Pierre.... Ican look after myself.”

“Monsieur’s orders,” Pierre muttered, and spread the clothwith her assistance, and in spite of a freakish wind. Hescratched the top of his head and looked a little vague.“Monsieur says it is too fine a morning to waste indoors. Heis from Paris, and in Paris naturally the mornings are not asfine as this! But I am concerned about the poor MadameGiraud....”

“You have news of her?” Caroline asked quickly. “How —how is she?”

“Monsieurhas telephoned the hospital, and she is much asshe was.”

“Oh!” And then something struck her as out of keeping, andshe added: “Monsieur telephoned the hospital? Then hehas already been here... ?”

“He is here now, mademoiselle!” Even as he spoke, a slimfigure came round a projecting round tower that abutted on

to the terrace, and he was looking very comfortable andcasual in well-tailored slacks and a silk shirt open at theneck. The opening in the neck was filled with a dark bluesilk neckerchief decorated with white spots and knottedcarelessly about his bronzed throat, and with the morningsunlight pouring over his sleek head and drawing attentionto his swarthiness he looked rather gipsyish, although itwas at once obvious that he was meticulously shaved.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Darcy!” he exclaimed, his brown eyespositively lighting up at sight of her. “There is no need toask whether you slept well!”

She was wearing strawberry-pink linen, with a white beltand sandals, and her hair was a lovely shining cloak fallingalmost to her shoulders. The sunlight discovered goldenlights amongst the beech-brownness, and her eyelasheswere several degrees darker than her hair. Her eyes weresuch a very deep blue this morning that they made him thinkof a patch of gentians he had once climbed a mountain topick before breakfast.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he said softly, “that you arequite enchanting?”

Taken by surprise, Caroline blushed vividly. And then sherecovered herself.

“Did you sleep well, Monsieur de Bergerac?” she asked.

“And were there many holes in your cottage roof?”

“The name is Robert,” he replied swiftly—and in such a lowvoice that Pierre, distributing his cutlery with rather a lot ofnoise, was scarcely likely to hear. “And there were probablyhalf a dozen holes, but I didn’t notice them.”

“You didn’t? But, surely --------- ”

“I slept very deeply, but not dreamlessly. I had very pleasantdreams.”

His eyes were still on her, and she coloured afresh. Sheturned away, and he said briskly to the servant:

“Bring the coffee, Pierre! I have a great many things to dotoday, and I don’t want to waste any time.”

Then he strode to the parapet and looked down into themoat. From the moat his eyes wandered to the fartherbank, and then to the great trees receding into the distance.

“And to think that in Paris at this hour I would still beincarcerated in my room,” he said, “and outside thewindows there would be a great deal of noise caused bymany millions of people all intent on getting through the daysomehow or other, and rushing about to very little purpose!”

“And your bookshop?” she asked. “Who would be attendingto your bookshop?”

He smiled down at her, a white-toothed, strangely attractivesmile.

“Not me,” he said—’certainly not me!”

“But”—and she looked puzzled---------“can you afford to

employ someone to do a job that you could do so easilyyourself? After all, if the bookshop is a means oflivelihood...”

“Partially,” he reminded her. “Do not forget that it is only apartial means of livelihood. It is Armand who prevents mefrom joining the bread queues.”

“There are no bread queues in Paris,” she returned, a littleimpatiently, “and you know it. And if there were, yourappearance suggests that it would be a very long timebefore you joined them. But I don’t understand how you canbe so dependent on the generosity of a friend.”

“Ah, but then you do not know how thrustful is the generosityof Armand! It reaches out and grasps at one like an eagerand determined tentacle—it is almost, if not quite, his onlyvirtue! In fact, I do not know of any other single virtue that hepossesses, but far be it from me to appear critical of abenefactor on such a morning as this.” Once more his eyesdropped to the moat, and he smiled one-sidedly at themoorhens returning under the bridge. “Look at them! Is it

not peaceful? Does not the sight of that simple brood, thethought of their untroubled existence, make you want torenounce the dubious delights of town life for always?”

“So far as I am concerned,” she replied simply, “town lifehas few delights.”

“Is that so?” He glanced at her curiously sideways. “You areone of the earnest ones—the toilers?” he said, softly. “Foryou life means work?”

“I have to work to keep myself.”

“That is sad,” and he sounded as if he meant it.

“But when I come to a place like this I can appreciate it allthe more,” she told him truthfully.

“Ah!” He followed her glance up to the front of the chateau.In the soft, clear light of morning it was gently stone-coloured, and the lovely line of windows something toinspire poetry. There was one window that was veryimpressive, and she decided that it was the window of thegreat hall. The blue of the sky was imprisoned between itslace-like framework, and the constant movement of thetrees cast flickering shadows across it. “You like it here?”he asked, even more softly.

“If this house belonged to me,” she answered, as ifcompelled, “I would never, never leave it!”

“Never is a long time,” he reminded her thoughtfully. Shelooked round at him and met his eyes.

“To you it would seem a very long time in a place like this?”

“It depends,” he replied, and his eyes were on the slendercolumn of her throat as she put back her head. At themoment it was a delicately cream-coloured throat, but inthis atmosphere, and this sunshine, it would soon becomelightly tanned. He was not at all sure that he wouldn’t preferit to remain as it was, reminiscent of the pale stem of aflower. “It depends,” he repeated.

“On what?”

“On the conditions under which I was forced to remain hereforever,” and he smiled at her brilliantly.

Pierre returned with the coffee, and a napkin-lined basketof crisp rolls. There was already butter on the table veryyellow butter, which Marthe had shaped into tempting pats—and several dishes of preserve, and de Bergerac turnedas if he had suddenly discovered that he was very hungryagain. As she buttered her own first roll Caroline got on tothe subject that was really troubling her.

“What about Marthe?” she asked. “You have had news ofher this morning Pierre tells me?”

“I telephoned the hospital, yes. I shall be going to see herlater in the day.”

“And you’ll take me with you?” she asked eagerly. “Oh,please do!” as one of his dark eyebrows cocked. “I am soanxious to see her, and I have no other means of transportunless you’ll take me with you. And naturally Marthe willexpect me to visit her.”

“Will she?” But he sounded distinctly doubtful. “Marthe wasexpecting to look after you, and she won’t think a hospitalthe right kind of background for you just now—not as aconvalescent patient. She’d prefer to think of you as beingtaken care of here, and resting after your journey. At least,knowing Marthe, that’s what I’m certain she’d prefer!”looking across the table at her as if the matter was settled.

“But that’s another thing!” she protested. “How can I

possibly remain here when--------”

He lifted a hand into the air.

“All that is settled. You remain here, and arrangements willbe made. I will attend to them myself...!” He smiled at her.“And in the meantime you will be a good little MademoiselleCarol, and I will tell Marthe that that is what you are, and shewill be happy to know how good and unobstructive you canbe when the occasion demands. And perhaps another timewhen I am visiting at the hospital.”

“You will take me with you?”

“We will see.” His smile teased her gently. “And to-day, I willtake you as far as Le Fontaine, and you can amuse yourselfin the flower-market, or in a study of the local architecture,while I convey your good wishes to Marthe. And believe meMarthe will applaud, for she is very sensible—that one! Andwe do not wish her to be overanxious while she is sounfortunately laid low.”

But whether Marthe was capable of applauding or not,Caroline had a very guilty conscience as she wandered inthe flower-market in Le Fontaine, and waited for thereappearance of Robert de Bergerac’s long cream car.

In spite of his easy, amiable, smiling manner, he wascapable of taking a very firm stand, she had decided, butshe thought that she ought to have taken a firmer stand, andinsisted on seeing Marthe, if it was only for a few minutes.

The flower-market at Le Fontaine was very much like theflower-market in many small French country towns. Theflower sellers were elderly women protected by large, gayumbrellas from the concentrated warmth of the midmorningsun, and the scent of the blooms they offered filled everycorner of the space wherein they traded them. There wasthe rich, spicy odour of clove pinks and carnations, theever-present perfume of roses— gorgeous, mauvish-red

roses that seemed to abound in that area— the penetratingperfume of lilies, and the quieter scent of a few bunches ofvery late violets. Caroline began to feel as if all this weightof perfume was getting up into her head and making hersenses swim a little, and she moved away to examinesome of the buildings that de Bergerac had pointed out toher from the car.

There were some splendid old houses, with gracefulfacades, dating back into a past that would never reallybecome the past in Le Fontaine, because modernity wasbut a cloak it wore carelessly, and therefore capable ofslipping constantly. There was a fine town hall, and a restfulchurch, a covered fruit-market where the shadows werewelcoming and the strawberries tempting, and a vegetable-market adjoining where Caroline watched Frenchhousewives haggling over the prices of lettuces, and everyconceivable vegetable from onions to artichokes. Shecould not help but admire the business-like efficiency ofthese women, who were not to be put off either byextortionate prices or inferior produce, and knew that sheherself could never develop such a bold front. Which meantthat it was fortunate she was not likely to become the wifeof a middle-class Frenchman— for middle-classFrenchmen, she understood, expected their wives to bethat way, and to conduct the affairs of their home life withoutflinching from unpleasing contacts, and to put both feetdown firmly whenever it was necessary—to save money,that is.

She wandered up and down the shopping streets, andlooked into inviting shop windows, and was standing in themiddle of the big central square, with some pigeonsparading about her feet, when Robert de Bergerac’s carslid alongside her once more.

“Get in,” he said, holding open the door. His dark eyesseemed to be surveying her with interest. “Even thepigeons like you!” he told her. “If Id had a camera I mighthave taken a snapshot of you, and called it a gentlefeminine St. Francis!”

But she was anxious to hear about Marthe.

“How is she?” she demanded. “Did she think it very oddthat I didn’t go with you?”

“Of course not. She thought it very wise that you shouldavoid any undue strain at the moment.”

But the tiny smile on his lips was a little curious, shethought, as if he was conscious of having done somethinghe particularly wished to do without her being there toobserve what it was. He had taken a huge armful of flowersto the old lady from the flower-market, as well as eggs andbutter and other things from the chateau, and apparentlyMarthe had been pleased.

“She was sitting up and looking very well, except that her

ankle is in a kind of cage,” he explained. “She was evenknitting furiously. She gave me instructions to look after you,and to see that you do not do anything rash.” He sent her awhimsical glance. “I told her that I took you for a ghost lastnight.”

“Oh!”

“And that decided her that you must be very well taken careof! No harrowing experiences just yet, such as visiting thesick. You are to get quite well yourself before you doanything of the kind.” “I am well.”

His eyebrows elevated themselves, but he said nothing,concentrating on driving the car and avoiding the bumps inthe cobbled streets and presently he brought the car to restoutside a rather modern and expensive-looking hotel.

“This is where we will lunch,” he said. “I am sure that by thistime you are very hungry.”

She cast a swift glance up at the front of the hotel. Sheremembered his bookshop in the Rue de Rivoli, and theessential cheques from the Comte de Marsac—withoutwhich, apparently, he couldn’t carry on—and suggesteddiffidently:

“Don’t you think it looks as if it might be a little costly?Couldn’t we go somewhere cheaper... ? I mean------------”

“Certainly not,” he replied, his whimsical look growing evenmore whimsical, and he removed his ignition key andslipped it into a pocket of his admirably tailored jacket.“This is where we will lunch, and this is where you shallsample a wine such as you have never tasted on the otherside of that grey strip of Channel that divides our twocountries. Now!” and he slid sinuously out on to thepavement and turned to help her alight.

The hotel was even more lush and luxurious inside than itlooked on the outside, but they went through into a kind ofenclosed courtyard where tables were set out beneath acanopy of vines. There was a huge tank in the centre inwhich goldfish disported themselves amidst gardens ofcoral and weed, and a string orchestra in a corner, behinda barrier of impressive pot plants, dispensed light airs thatwent well with the tinkling of wine in glasses, and thepleasing rattle of cutlery.

De Bergerac deliberated over the menu with Caroline butwhen he discovered that she knew little or nothing aboutFrench dishes decided to order for her. He ordered hors doeuvre such as she had never tasted before, composed ofdozens of little dishes in which were included such savouryitems as garlic sausages, black as well as green olives,stuffed eggs, etc. Then came some little hard-shelled, verypink fish swimming in a highly delectable sauce, and on topof that some wonderful escalopes of veal Caroline refusedanything further after that apart from an icecream, thinking

of the bill and the size of it when it was presented,particularly when she saw with what reverence the wine-waiter served the wine, as if he could hardly accord itenough honour. And when she tasted it, inexperiencedpalate though she had, she knew that it was certainty notthe least expensive on the wine-list.

De Bergerac looked at her quizzically over the top of hiswineglass.

“What is wrong?” he asked. “You look as if you are workingout arithmetical problems in your head.”

“I was,” she admitted. And then she added: “There is noreal reason why you should bring me out to lunch to-day.”

“No real reason at all,” he agreed, “except that I am findingit very pleasant!”

His dark eyes were bland, velvety, amused and smiling.They made her feel a little odd every time she gazed rightinto them, as if the breath caught for an instant in her throat,or something interfered with one of her heartbeats. It was asensation entirely new to her, but she hadn’t time to wonderabout it, for there were other things to wonder about.

The attention her escort received in this extremely selectrestaurant, and the smiles and bows that had beenaccorded to herself as soon as she entered it,’ were two ofthe most puzzling. For it wasn’t merely attentiveness, it was

a kind of delighted subservience, and she felt certain thatthe smiles and bows were only accorded to her becauseshe was with de Bergerac. Any other man—any otherescort—might have earned her polite and meticulousattention to her needs, but not this overwhelming desire toplease at all costs—even to grovel, if so she commanded—-which made her feel a little uncomfortable at times.

Then de Bergerac himself, when she looked at him— hiscufflinks, that looked as if they were made of platinum, andhad a winking suggestion of diamonds about them. Thewatch on his wrist, neat but plainly extremely expensive,and his cigarette-case that had some sort of a crestengraved on it. She wished she could be presented with anopportunity to examine that crest, but didn’t like to ask forpermission to do so. And the sheer restrained eleganceand perfection of his clothes delighted and satisfied somehitherto unsuspected aesthetic quality within her.

“Whatever it is you are worrying about,” he told her, whenthey arrived at the coffee and liqueur stage of the meal, andhe insisted on her accepting a green chartreuse, “you areto forget it—for the time being, at least! And instead you willtell me something about yourself—the sort of things you dowhen you are at home in England. The way you live, the wayyou play! How is it that you know Marthe?”

“She was employed by my mother’s family for a good manyyears. My mother was very fond of her.”

“And she was devoted to your mother?”

“Yes. But I’m afraid they couldn’t keep her when—

when ---- “

“When they alighted on evil times?”

“Y-yes!” She looked at him in astonishment. “But how didyou know?”

“I didn’t. I merely guessed.” He smiled at her, that soft,almost caressing smile that was beginning to do rathermore than cause her breath to catch in her throat, andwhich she knew she had started to watch for. “It was verysimple.”

“In what way was it simple?”

He touched her hands, one of which was toying with theshort stem of her liqueur glass.

“These are so very delicate—almost flower-like! The wholeof you is flower-like, as if it was intended you should becarefully cherished, but some miscalculation on the part ofyour parents— or some misfortune—made that impossible!Instead you have had to fend for yourself, and that is notright! Tell me, now, how long have you had to do thisfending for yourself?”

“Ever since my parents died.” A shadow crossed her face.“They were killed simultaneously in a car accident, justbefore I was due to leave school.”

“And when you left school there was no money?”

“No, I—I had to get a job at once. But luckily I had taken acommercial course, and I could type and do shorthand, andthat sort of thing.”

“And you found a job easily enough?”

“Yes; with a firm of solicitors. I am with them now.” “That isgood,” he said. His slim fingers carried his cigarette up tohis lips, and he inhaled deeply for a moment, his eyes stillresting on

her. “You must have given satisfaction, little one. How manyyears is that?”

This time it was she who smiled with faint amusement, herwood-violet eyes glinting into his.

“In other words, how old am I? Twenty-two,” she told him.

He made a slight sound as if the breath checked for aninstant in his throat, and then she distinctly heard him sigh. Itwas a quite unmistakable sigh.

“In that case I can give you ten years! Ten years!” he

repeated sombrely. “Does that make me seem very old?”

“No.”

But she could have added that the lines in his face— thetelltale lines around his mouth, and below his eyes (nothingto do with the laughter wrinkles at their corners) made himseem very old in experience. Those additional ten years ofhis had been well lived—intensely lived rather than well,perhaps! With such a man it would be unwise to enquireinto the manner in which he had spent those years, and theadvantages, or otherwise, they had brought him. And at thethought a shadow seemed to fall across Caroline’s heart.He was so attractive, so rather quaintly good-looking. Hiseyelashes were so thick and long and black that they castshadows in his eyes, and lent him rather a “little boy” look.But there was nothing “little boy” about the knowledge thatlay behind them, although the eyes themselves were softand lustrous and beautiful. Yes, quite, quite beautiful, shethought...! And felt as if the shadow became an actual tightsqueeze in the region of her heart. She looked quickly awayfrom him.

“Tell me how you contracted the pneumonia?” he asked.

She told him exactly how she had contracted it, and by thetime she had finished—long before she had finished —hiseyes were almost black with concern, and definitely a littleangry as well.

“It’s impossible!” he exclaimed. “That such a thing shouldbe allowed to happen...! But it must never happen again!”His voice

was very definite. “We must see to that!” And then, withmore curiosity: “But although this thing did happen to you—although you were left alone so long—you have friends inEngland? Good friends, perhaps?”

“I have one or two.”

“Special friends?”

“There is a girl in my office with whom I often spendweekends. We go hiking together sometimes, and toconcerts— when we are in sufficient funds,” with a suddensmile that irradiated the whole of her small, fair face. “TheFestival Hall, and places of that sort.”

“No friends of the opposite sex? One in particular?”

She shook her head, feeling her colour rise a little becauseof the earnestness of his expression.

He uttered an exclamation.

“What is wrong with your fellow countrymen? Have they noeyes?” Then, almost jealously: “You are sure thatoccasionally no one takes you to a dance, or to thetheatre?”

She laughed a little mischievously.

“I belong to a tennis club, and occasionally we hold dances.Naturally on those occasions I don’t always dance withmembers

of my own sex.”

His eyes seemed to spark a little.

“And afterwards they see you home?”

She nodded.

“And—kiss you? On your doorstep?”

“I think,” she said, feeling around for her handbag, andcollecting her gloves, and sounding very demure indeed,“that we should go now. But thank you very much for thelunch, Monsieur de Bergerac.

“Robert,” he insisted. “Say Robert!”

She said it, deleting the ‘T, so that it sounded somehowmuch more exciting than the ordinary English Robert.

As they left the restaurant he kept his hand under her arm,and he looked much more sombre than when they enteredit. Just

before he put her into the car he asked with his dark browsalmost meeting:

“You are sure that no man has ever kissed you on yourdoorstep?”

Suddenly she felt curiously light-hearted, even lightheaded,and she heard herself laughing in a light-hearted manner.

“Where I live there is no proper doorstep. You walk straightinto the hall—rather a grim hall!—and then up an appallinglysteep flight of stairs to a door with a number on it. There isseldom any real light burning on the stairs, so when youreach your number you go straight in because the stairs arealso very narrow, and not the kind of stairs on which onewould wish to linger!” His eyes looked down at her, oncemore a trifle quizzical. “Involved, but satisfactory,” heanswered. “I feel the first glimmerings of approval whereyour landlady is concerned!”

CHAPTER V

They drove back to the chateau through the sleepy warmthof the afternoon, and after such an excellent lunch Carolinefelt highly appreciative of the comfort of the red-lined creamcar. It was very low-slung, and the seats were superlativelywell sprung, and de Bergerac was a smoothly efficientdriver. He didn’t put on sudden bursts of speed, and thenslow, leaving his passenger’s stomach behind them. He

maintained a fairly high rate of speed all the time, but therewas so much confidence in his shapely brown handsresting on the wheel that Caroline would not have beenalarmed if they had touched even a higher rate of speed.

But when they entered the forest he had, perforce, to slow.The forest trees were all round them, engulfing them as ifthey intended to swallow them up eventually. The shadewas delicious after the glare of the white road leading out ofLe Fontaine, and

Caroline felt the prickles of heat fading from her forehead,and a sort of sensuous soothingness entered into her soul.For the first time she noticed that a silvery streammeandered through the woods, and on its banks thecoolness was like a

caress. There were long grasses, reeds, and a silver birchor two bending above the water, and in a clear space hercompanion stopped the car. She found herself looking atthe tumbledown gateway to a cottage that was almost ontop of the water, and at the end of a flagged path chimneyssagged wearily, a roof gaped open, and a doorway leanedlopsidedly on its hinges.

De Bergerac shook his head as he silenced the car.

“This is bad,” he said. ‘This is worse than I ever expected!”

Caroline looked at him curiously.

“Not—your cottage?” she asked. “The place where youspent last night?”

He smiled at her, a flashing, provocative smile.

‘‘Come and see,” he said, and helped her out of the car.They trod the flagged path side by side, although he was alittle in advance of her by the time they reached the door.He put out a cautious hand and thrust it open, and it gratedprotestingly. Caroline drew back a little, but he urged herforward, smiling more one-sidedly, teasing her abouthobgoblins, and then assuring her in. the next breath thatthere were none in the cottage.

“But you who spent last night alone in a strange chateauwould not fear them in any case,” he said. ‘‘You were socertain the chateau ghosts are kindly, but you haven’tinformed me yet whether you had any converse with them!”

She smiled back at him uncertainly.

“Did you?”

‘‘Of course I didn’t!”

His white teeth flashed a trifle mockingly, and he stoodaside from the doorway.

“After you, Mademoiselle Carol!”

But her footstep was faltering as it carried her over thethreshold, and she had no chance to take in more than abare floor and a brick fireplace, a rickety chair and a table,before something rushed at her, and she let out a terrifiedshriek and turned and hurled herself into the arms of theman behind her.

They went round her and held her fast with the greatestpromptitude, and she seemed to burrow herself deep intohis hold, for the noise in her ears had been like the wildrushing of wings, and she had had a distinct impression ofa black shape hovering in front of her, and tiny eyes deeplyembedded in a mass of fur that had actually brushedagainst her face.

She shuddered wildly and convulsively.

“Oh...! O-oh...! What was it? What was it-------------------?”

“It was nothing,” the man chided, holding her so tightly that itshould have interfered with her breathing, only she didn’tnotice it. “Only a bat!”

“A—a bat?”

She put back her head and looked up at him, and his browneyes looked back at her gently.

“But supposing it had got into my hair!”

He laughed—gaily, ringingly. And then all at once hesobered, and he stroked the bright brown hair from whichthe shadowy straw hat she had worn with her pink linendress had fallen, and his fingers had a soothing magic thatmade her feel instantly ashamed of her behaviour. Shetried to draw herself out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let hergo, and instead he went on stroking her hair until she feltutterly at peace, and inclined to sigh with relief.

“Even if it had, I could have removed it, couldn’t I? And batsare not so stupid as all that, although the temptation foranything to attach itself to this soft hair of yours must begreat indeed!” and he lowered his cheek for an instant, andshe smelled the fragrance of his shaving cream. Then sheheard him say more severely: “But I shouldn’t have allowedyou to come in here first! I am entirely at fault that you havesuffered a shock!”

“It wasn’t a shock. I was just silly, I-----------”

She looked up at him, where she still stood in his hold, andtheir eyes met and held, and went on meeting and holdingas if it was impossible for either of them to look away.Caroline felt as if something deep inside her started totremble a little, and then as if all her bones were no longerquite as firm as they once had been, and inclined to meltaltogether beneath the influence of some extraordinaryemotion that was creeping up over her like a wave. Andshe said to herself silently but clearly that she didn’t want to

draw herself away—that these were arms that had beendesigned expressly to hold her, and that all her life she hadknown that they would do so one day, and he had known it,too, and therefore it was unreasonable that they shouldhave to draw apart, when all they wanted— all they bothwanted...!

She gave a little gasp, felt genuinely shocked andbewildered, and succeeded in wrenching herself out of hisclasp. She turned unsteadily to the rickety chair behind her.

“You must think I’m—foolish...!”

His eyes were very dark—almost black—and he studiedher as if the last thing he thought was that she was foolish.Then he made sure that the chair was stable enough to holdher, and she sat down on it.

“But”—and she looked about the living-room of the cottagein sudden amazement—”you couldn’t possibly have slepthere last night! Surely this isn’t the place where you slept...?”

The tension had passed, and his twinkling smile was back.

“No. I curled up on your mat, as I suggested to you I shoulddo!” As she looked almost horrified, his smile challengedher. “Well, perhaps not literally on your mat, but I selected aroom in a wing very remote from the one you are occupyingat the chateau, and spent the night there. Part of the night,

that is.”

“And the other part?”

“I wandered about—a kind of night watchman, you know!”He sat down gingerly on the edge of the table, and lighted acigarette. “You didn’t honestly think I would leave you alone,did you, Carol?” his face becoming completely serious. “Soworn out, and small, and defenceless—even helpless whenI carried you up to bed!” He avoided looking at her, andlooked at the tip of his cigarette instead. “I knew I couldn’tleave you, whatever the world might say about our spendingthe night in the same otherwise deserted house. There areoccasions when conventions don’t really matter, and lastnight was one of them.”

“It—it was good of you to remain,” she heard herselfwhispering, also not daring to look at him. “I slept very well,but I thought I heard someone moving about on the terraceat one time during the night.”

“And you weren’t afraid? The sound didn’t disturb you?”

“No—curiously enough it didn’t disturb me!”

“Perhaps you really are very bold and brave?”

“No, I’m not—I can assure you I’m not!” Their glances cametogether, and clung for a moment. “Perhaps I sensed thatyou were

not—an intruder.... ”

“So far as you’re concerned, knowing less than nothingabout me, I might well have been an intruder!” Then hewalked to the tiny, deep-set window, and stood looking outat the tangled garden. “But history will not repeat itself to-night, for I have arranged that someone will move in beforedark, and that someone will be well able to look after you.As a matter of fact, we’re going to call in and see her on ourway back, but I’ve already sent her a note, and I know shewon’t fail me. She is one of Armand’s favourite tenants.”“Oh, yes?” looking at him for further information.

He ground out his cigarette on the window-ledge.

“I’ve told you that Armand has one virtue, and one virtueonly, and that is generosity! He really can be extremelygenerous on occasion—it’s a kind of weakness, actually,and he probably fancies himself as a noble benefactorwhen he can so easily afford it, and nobody ever acted thepart of a noble benefactor to him! It’s the sort of thingpeople wish to do when they want to possess some sort ofsaving grace..! However, this young woman’s husband wassent to prison for some sort of a housebreaking offense,and Armand came to the rescue with a spot of financialassistance. It was badly needed, for there are two smallchildren, and Monique couldn’t very well leave them to earnmoney. So we are now on our way to Monique....”

“I see.” She stood up. “But if it was the Comte who wasgenerous to her, why should this Monique do something tooblige you?” “Because we’re in the same boat, she and I—we both find it so comforting to lean upon the Comte!” andonce again there was a mocking gleam in his eyes.

She looked at him a little doubtfully, and then a little frowndrew her soft brown eyebrows together.

“At the present time we’re all three a nuisance to theComte, aren’t we? I ought to be looking round for a littlehotel to stay at, and not put you to the trouble of findingsomeone to look after me.”

For answer he picked up her hat from the stone floor of thecottage, dusted it carefully with his own immaculatehandkerchief, and then handed it back to her with a littlebow.

“Shall we go now and find Monique?” he said.

She sighed.

“Nevertheless, I am a trouble....” Then, as she followed himoutside she asked curiously: “But why did we come here?”She looked up at the creeper-clad front of what had oncebeen a delightful, if diminutive, dwelling. “It’s in an appallingstate, isn’t it?” with regret in her tones. “And it must oncehave been very pretty.”

“It was.” His eyes were on the gaping thatch, and he shookhis head. “I did once spend a very pleasant few weekshere, and I wanted to see it again. I must report to Armandthat unless he does something soon there won’t be any roofleft to this place, and that would be a pity.”

“You think you might like to come and stay here again?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps,” he repeated, and let his glance roveover her, and her cool pink linen, before he once more shuther into his car.

Monique’s cottage was in a much better state of repair thanthe one they had just left, and she was hanging out a line ofwashing in her small garden when the car stopped outsidethe gate. She looked confused when Caroline steppedfrom the car, patted her windblown brown hair, and fumbledwith the strings of her apron, as if she didn’t quite knowwhether or not to remove it. She had very rosy cheeks, andbright brown eyes, and Caroline liked her on sight.

“Bonjour, mdm selle!—Bonjour, monsieur”she greeted.

De Bergerac addressed her with his most attractive smile.

“We’re here, Monique, and I know you’re not going to let medown, are you?” looking down confidently into the slightly—in fact, rather curiously—awed brown eyes. He introducedCaroline. “This lady has been ill, and she must be lookedafter. I know you can do it excellently, Monique.”

Monique looked long, and rather carefully, at the English girl“Mademoiselle looks pale and spirituelle” she announced,at last. “She has undoubtedly been very ill!”

“Oh, I’m much better now,” Caroline assured her, smiling.

“But, all the same, it is as well to take care! The goodMarthe has already told me all about you and your illness.”

“Oh!”

Caroline felt a little awkward, knowing that she had beendiscussed.

Then, round the side of the house, came a small childstruggling along with an enormous cat in his arms. At firstCaroline thought he was a girl, for he had such a curly massof honey-blond hair, but on depositing the cat at her feetshe discovered that there was something essentially sturdyand masculine about him. “I am Thibault,” he told her, “andthis is Jacqueline, my cat. Jacqueline has had many kittens,but we have drowned the lot!”

“Except the very last lot,” put in a thin, elfin-like girl with awispy fringe and the most solemn grey eyes Caroline hadever seen in her life. They were positively luminous greyeyes, and they were fixed upon her face. “I had one formyself, and the others were given away.” “Were they,indeed, Marie-Josette?” de Bergerac barely murmured,

and the small girl turned, and simply hurled herself uponhim. Her thin arms went round his neck until he was almoststrangled, and even her undernourished legs went roundhim and held him tight—until her mother dragged her awaywith ferocious scoldings.

“Marie-Josette, how could you?” she demanded.“Monsieur’s fine clothes to be spoiled by the muck of thegarden and the pig-house! What has come over you?”

But de Bergerac laughed, and snatched her back from hermother, and Marie-Josette shrieked with delight as heswung her round the garden, and she felt like a suspendedballerina in his hold. When at last he set her down she waspushing the fringe out of her eyes and glowing withunexpected happiness, and the happiness was increasedwhen he solemnly mentioned that there was a present in thecar.

“In the left-hand pocket,” he said, and both children hurledthemselves upon the left-hand pocket of his car, their eagervoices calling aloud that he had brought them a present.

The present turned out to be quite a large box of expensiveconfectionery, and Caroline saw Monique brush somethingsuspiciously like moisture from her eyes as she watchedthe excitement of her small family, while the man who hadcaused it stood by with a faint, amused smile on his lips.

“You are too good, monsieur.;” she said, “too good!” andused a corner of her apron to intercept one of the drops thatpersisted in rolling down her cheek.

“Nonsense,” he returned, and ruffled the wispy hair ofMarie-Josette, now decorated with the ribbon from the boxof confectionary. “It is impossible to be too good in thisworld, isn’t that so, ma petite? One spends all one’s timeattempting to be even slightly good!”

Monique tried to persuade them to go inside and allow herto make them some coffee, but de Bergerac said MissDarcy had had a long enough outing for one day, and thatshe ought to get back and rest in her room. Moniqueagreed that Miss Darcy must certainly rest, and promisedthat as soon as she had tidied up her house and dealt withthe washing on the line she would be along at the chateau,and would pick up Marthe’s discarded reins until such timeas Marthe herself should return to grasp hold of them again,or monsieur should decide she was no longer needed.

The two children would accompany her, she had to make itplain, and de Bergerac said that would be splendid, andMarie-Josette could wait on him personally. And from theadoring fashion in which Marie-Josette hung on his arm,and the way in which her grey eyes seemed anxious neverto leave his face—even while Thibault was eagerlydisembowelling the contents of the chocolate box —Caroline deduced that to wait on him would be the greatest

delight in the world to her, although she was barely eightyears old.

On the way back to the chateau at last she found herselfstudying him thoughtfully as he drove, and believing him tobe unaware of her contemplative regard she was a littlesurprised when he looked at her sideways, and asked witha curious smile:

“Well, what is it that is puzzling you, Carol, Cherie? Or is itperhaps, that you have arrived at a decision?”

“You are fond of children?” she said, as if that was thedecision she had arrived at.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Are not most men?”

‘‘Not all. Certainly not all And children are cautious aboutforming attachments.”

His smile glinted at her, whiter than ever.

“And you have made up your mind that the little Benoitchildren have attached themselves to me?”

She could have told him that it was the one thing she couldbe absolutely certain about, and she could have added thathe didn’t surprise her in the least. For there was something

about him that was not merely endearing, it was almost acompelling charm. She had been aware of it from themoment they met.

CHAPTER VI

The next few days passed with a smoothness that neitherCaroline nor de Bergerac would have believed possiblewhen they arrived at the chateau to find that Marthe had metwith an accident. Monique wasn’t merely quite as good acook as Marthe, but being much younger she was able toundertake far more than poor Marthe had found it possibleto undertake in recent years, and although most of therooms at the chateau were under dust-covers, the two orthree that were now used constantly began to look reallywell kept. Monique baked, and scrubbed, and washed, andpolished, and looked after her two children, withoutapparently

finding any of it beyond her, and with very little assistancefrom Pierre, who stuck closely to his kitchen-garden. And inaddition she insisted on waiting on Caroline to such anextent that the English girl began to feel positively useless.

“I’m not used to it,” she protested more than once, whenMonique declined to be dissuaded from carrying herbreakfast tray up to her, laundered her crisp linen dressesbefore they were in any real need of attention, insisted onserving “elevenses”, and made odd pots of tea for her

because she was used to them. “If Marthe was here Icouldn’t possibly allow her to do these things for me, andyou have so much to do that I certainly shouldn’t allow you.”

“Marthe is old,” Monique returned complacently, “and onedoes not expect so much of the old. But I am young andstrong, and it is monsieur s orders!”

And by this time Caroline realised that anything “monsieur”ordered would be the last thing that would be disputed.

It occurred to her that de Bergerac had acted as a kind ofemissary (in the pleasantest sense of the word!) of theComte on more than one occasion, so far as Monique wasconcerned, and that was one reason why she had evolvedsuch an admiration for him. It might be the Comte’sgenerosity, but Robert had his own method ofadministering it, and allied with the warmth and appeal ofhis own personality it attracted to him some of the gratitudethat should rightly belong to the Comte.

And as Caroline had hot very high praise of the Comte thisdidn’t worry her very much. In fact she thought it was poeticjustice that the one tenant in whom he interested himselfshould reserve so much appreciation for his friend.

But she was a little anxious sometimes when she wonderedwhat the Comte would think if he turned up suddenly andfound her there, being treated like an honoured guest by

someone he would have to recompense.

“I do feel that I ought to have found a little hotel and gonethere,” she said, more than once, to a Robert who hadjoined forces with Monique in spoiling her as much as itwas possible to

spoil one single human being. (And that a very ordinaryEnglish girl, as she looked upon herself.) “Staying here likethis is an imposition. It would have been different if Marthewas here.”

“But Marthe is not here!” His eyes roved over her with akind of gentle amusement, and he bent forward to adjustthe cushion behind her back, and enquired whether shewould like another for additional comfort. She shook hersmooth and gleaming head.

“I am supremely comfortable.”

“Actually, it is I who should find a little hotel!” he looked ather rather sombrely. “Do you realise that by remaining hereI am likely to create a certain amount of talk? And even inout-of-the-way French villages like this one near herepeople do talk, you know!”

“W-what about?” she asked, although she knew perfectlywell what he meant. She avoided meeting his eyes, thosevelvet-brown eyes that were doing such extraordinary thingsto her. “Monique is here too, and the— the children....”

“And Jacqueline, the cat who is always creating the needfor drowning kittens...! And the fat kitten from the last litterwho has not yet acquired a name, but is the property ofMarie-Josette! And perhaps Marie-Josette is the bestchaperone of all, for she doesn’t leave us alone togethervery much, does she?” with the whimsicalness back in hiseyes.

It was true that Marie-Josette followed them practicallyeverywhere, and even on short drives she accompaniedthem sometimes, her un-named kitten purring contentedlyin her lap. She seemed to have staked a kind of claimwhere de Bergerac was concerned, and lookedpossessive every time he was near, and even glancedoccasionally with faint hostility in her enormous grey eyes atCaroline, because she was always awarded the seatbeside the driving seat, and was so noticeably fussed-over.Caroline felt a little amused, realising that this was the truefeminine jealousy that, later on, would make her rather adangerous young woman to play fast and loose with. And atthe moment she had a hero, and she adored him.

But she didn’t always accompany them on their drives, andthere were days when the two of them went off together inthe cream car, days when Monique packed them up apicnic basket, the contents of which they later enjoyedbeside the stream, or in some cool glade of the forestwhere civilisation seemed far away, and they might have

been back in mediaeval France, with the deep silencebeneath the trees emphasising their aloneness.

It was on these occasions that they talked a good deal—perhaps in order to forget that pregnant silence thatseemed to press upon them in the green gloom thatsurrounded them, waiting for them to become aware ofother things apart from conversation. Apart from Robert’sdescription of the Luxembourg Gardens in spring, lilies ofthe valley on sale everywhere in Paris at the beginning ofMay, the Horse Show in the Bois de Boulogne, galaperformances at the Opera. He talked so much about Paristhat she began to feel she had done far more than passthrough it, and although she wouldn’t admit it— preferring tocling to her pre-conceived notion that, compared withLondon, it was a frivolous city, likely to appeal only to thosewho were naturally rather frivolous-minded—she did beginto be conscious of a desire to see something of it one day.

He whetted her appetite for the sight of tree-lined streetsgreening over, as it were, in a night, after a particularly hardwinter. Wide avenues where the sun found it possible togild everything, because they were so open, and shopwindows that would tempt even the most nunlike female, ifshe was a female at all. It was only when he talked of littlerestaurants tucked away near the Madeleine, and theMontparnasse district with its literary and artisticassociations, that she grew a little cautious of displayingenthusiasm. And when he talked of “first-nights’’ at the

theatres, and night-clubs that kept open until an hour in themorning when it seemed to her peculiar that people shouldstill be seeking vicarious entertainment. Then he felt herwithdraw into a kind of shell, and his eyes twinkled, andtwinkled still more as he casually mentioned “morningsafter”, and Armand making frequent threats to cut out thatside of his life altogether, because it interfered with hiswork, and his work was the one thing that was reallyimportant to him these days.

But he had not so far been strong enough to eschew thelighter side of life entirely, although there was no telling whathe might do one of these days.

“Armand is a little bit unpredictable,” he admitted to heronce, when they were re-packing the picnic basket afterdoing more than justice to Monique’s feather-light pastriesand macaroons, and the excellent coffee she hadintroduced into a thermos flask. “It is not always easy tounderstand him. Sometimes he is gay—without, you wouldsay, a care in the world—and then,” with a little shruggingmovement of his shoulders, “for no reason whatsoever he isdown, deep down, in the doldrums! It is a little difficult tokeep pace with his moods.”

“Isn’t that because he is naturally temperamental? A writerwould be temperamental, wouldn’t he?”

“Would he? Or, rather, should he be?” He leaned on his

elbow and watched her, while his cigarette burned awaybetween his fingers, and his look seemed to her to be alittle intense, as if he was interested in her reactions. “Doestemperament excuse fits of very bad temper, impatiencewith everything and everybody, refusal to take anything buta cynical view of most people’s intentions, and adisinclination to believe that there is any real good inhuman nature? Does it excuse thinking contemptuously ofhis own success, which he does?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were very large and rather round inthe dimness of the wood, and their colour was a kind ofmisty violet. “But then I don’t know very much aboutsuccessful people. Actually, I’ve never met any.”

“Then you are fortunate, my child.”

He ground out the end of his cigarette in the long grass,and then lighted another. She had noticed that hepractically chain-smoked, and the tips of his supple fingerswere stained with nicotine.

“You—you see a good deal of the Comte, don’t you?” shesuggested diffidently.

“For my sins, I see a very great deal of him—a very greatdeal, yes!” he admitted.

“And you would rather it was otherwise?”

He shrugged.

“I haven’t said so. He is David to my Jonathan, or viceversa. In any case, we couldn’t get on without one another.”

“You mean that you help him—with ideas, or something ofthe sort—in his work? And that is why he shares the profitswith you?”

Amusement overspread his face, and his dark eyes grew alittle mocking.

“You do not altogether approve of my sharing those profits,do you? You think it would be far more to my credit if I madethat bookshop of mine pay dividends! Or did some otherhonest job of work! Well, perhaps I will one day—if you thinkit necessary!” He leaned forward and possessed himself ofone of her hands, turning the fingers back so that he couldadmire the delicate nails, and then staring rather hard at thesoft palm. “And we will not talk about this de Marsac, for heis a dull subject of conversation, and there are othersubjects that could be so much more interesting.”

“Such as?” she heard herself enquiring, in almost awhisper.

He went on staring at her palm,

“Can’t you think of one that would enable us to be in somesort of accord? No criticism on either side, no doubts, no

uncertainties—just the delight of discussing something weboth know and understand!”

Her heart had started to hammer wildly, and the hand hehad felt taut as a piece of live wire. But she looked awayfrom him desperately, into the leafy green foliage, thinkingthat he was a man who allowed another man to beresponsible for his creature comforts—or largelyresponsible —and the life he led was not the sort of life shewas certain she could ever approve. He had a curious,detached attitude to what was important in life—evenloyalty to his friend was not his strong point—and yet Marie-Josette would hurl herself into his arms the instant she sawhim coming! Jacqueline, the mother of many kittens,followed him about like a forlorn dog, and Monique’s eyesgrew several degrees brighter when his name wasmentioned. Marthe Giraud had written from the hospital thathe was being kinder to her than she deserved, and she hadrecommended Caroline to listen to his advice and stayaway from sick-visiting for a time.

“Get well and strong yourself’ she said, “and before long Iwill be back to look after you both!”

Which looked as if she was accustomed to Monsieur deBergerac’s visits, and had decided that this might be alengthy one.

And now Caroline could feel him tugging at her hand, gently

but insistently.

“Well,” he said, “isn’t there such a subject we can discuss?”Caroline looked down into his eyes, and it was her undoing.Her eyes became mirrors of all that she was thinking andfeeling, and she heard him give a little exclamation—asatisfied exclamation—and then sit up swiftly. He held outhis arms to her, and like Marie-Josette she went into themgladly, and he folded her close. She heard him whisperingwhile he rubbed his cheek against hers, and although herother cheek was pressed against him and she could hearthe wild thunder of his heart, she could also hear what hesaid.

“Little one...! Little, little one! Cheiie...! Oh, Cherie ...!” Hiseyelashes brushed against her skin, and the wildest ofthrills sped up and down her—she felt she was drowning inbliss. Her fingers clutched at him, and she trembled like aleaf in his arms. “I have wanted to hold you like this almostfrom the very first moment that we met,” he told herdreamily, “and now you are close to my heart! I don’t think Ican ever let you go!”

She felt his hand beneath her chin, forcing her face up, andhis eyes above her were ablaze with all sorts of lights, andtender at the same time.

“Don’t tell me if any man has ever kissed you before,” hesaid, “because I couldn’t bear it!”

And then his mouth was on hers, and the ecstasy wascomplete.

Later he lay with his head in her lap, looking up at her. “Youwill marry me?” he said. “I have never asked a woman tomarry me before in my life, but you I have got to have!Carol, if I don’t have you I shall pine away and die like oneof those comfortless females in English novels of Victorianlife! Do you believe me?”

She traced the arrogant outline of his eyebrows with a slimfingertip, and then gently touched the eyelashes thatfascinated her. Marry him... ? She felt bemused, unable tobelieve that that was what he was asking her to do, unusedyet even to the touch of his lips, unsure of the sensationsrioting within her.

“But you hardly know me,” she answered. “I hardly knowyou!” “And is it necessary to know all there is to know abouta man or a woman before it is possible to fall in love withhim or her?” he returned, hurt rebuke in his voice. Hecaptured her hand and buried his mouth in the palm. “Is thatthe way the English fall in love?—Is that the way a cool,remote little girl like you expects to be loved before she canmake up her mind to marry?”

“I am not cool and remote!” Her shaken voiced proved thatshe certainly wasn’t. “And I do love you, Robert...!” There...!It was out, her doubts vanished forever, everything clear

and crystallised for her so that, whatever happened, itwould be impossible to doubt that one thing again, andinstantly he removed his head from her lap and took herback into his arms. He held her as if she was very young,and a little unsure of herself still, and had to be reassured,and his reassurances were the sweetest things that hadever happened to her in her life.

“And I love you, my darling, my darling!” he told her. “It is adepth of love that has shaken me, I’ll admit, for I hadbecome cynical about such things, but perhaps that is whyit is all the more wonderful to be in love at last! And the factthat we met when and how we did, arriving at the chateau atthe same time, is proof that it was all arranged beforehand!It is something that was intended... ! I knew it for a certaintythat afternoon when you were frightened by the bat, andwhen you flew into my arms, but it seemed too early to tellyou then! Although I think that you might have listened... !And therefore there is nothing for it but that you mustbecome my wife!”

Her face was once more hidden against him, but shewhispered into the heavy silk of his shirt:

“But what will we live on?” It seemed a little paradoxical thatsuch a question should have to be asked when the silk ofthat shirt was so heavy, and so obviously expensive; but itdid have to be raised just the same. “The bookshop, or theComte!”

He was silent for several seconds, but when he spoke therewas a note of amusement in his voice.

“You would dislike very much to live on the Comte?” Sheput back her head and looked up at him, and her violeteyes were a little amazed.

“Dislike. . . ? But, it’s impossible! We couldn’t! Oh, Robert,of course we couldn’t! And the bookshop doesn’t seem topay very well!”

He lifted her chin again, and looked deep into her eyes.There was something thoughtful and mesmeric about thatprolonged and concentrated gaze, deep, as it were, intothe heart of her being, and then at last he said:

“Perhaps when I have you to guide me things will be better!You will be my clever little mentor and most truthfulcompanion, and with you nothing will find it possible to gowrong! We will have all the money we need—perhaps morethan we need!—and you at least will never be left aloneagain to be ill in a lonely room at the top of a steep flight ofstairs! That, to me, is the important thing— that you will becared for, and that you will be safe!”

“But, Robert, darling-------”

“There are no ‘buts’, my little one—not just now, at least!Just now the only thing that matters is that we belong—that I

love you, and that you love me!” He kissed each of her eyesin turn, the soft curve of her cheek, the slender column of thecreamy throat he had thought graceful as a flower stern,and the little hollow at the base of that throat where thepulse beat quickly and excitedly. He kissed the tendrils ofhair on her forehead, the tip of her slightly upturned nose,the pink lobes of her ears— and then as if he had beendeliberately delaying the moment of supreme rapture, hermouth. The kiss went on and on, and her bones melted.She clung to him helplessly.

“Are there any ‘buts’?” he asked huskily, at last.

“No—there are no ‘buts’.... ”

“And even if I ask you to live with me at the top of an equallyunattractive building as that one in which you were taken ill,will you agree?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll agree!”

“You wouldn’t mind poverty—if it was necessary?”

“I wouldn’t mind anything, so long as I was with you!”

He drew away from her, and he seemed to be breathingrather hard.

“Even a reputation that was—as I once said aboutArmand’s—a little ‘blown upon?’ A little inclined to cause

raised eyebrows at times! You wouldn’t mind throwing inyour lot with a man who has lived at a much harder pacethan you have, my darling?—who is a very black sheepindeed compared with your ewe-lamb whiteness! Who hasvery few illusions about life, and until he met you thoughtthat women were—well, to be treated lightly!” As shelooked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, he caught herback to him again. “Darling, darling, I love you! Is thatenough?”

“It is enough,” she told him fervently.

“You mean it?” as if he would force her to admit that it wasnot quite the truth.

“I mean it!” she wound her arms about his neck and heldhim tightly. ‘‘It doesn’t matter to me what you have done inthe past, Robert, or how you have lived. All that matters tome now—all that is important to me is that I want to be withyou, to look after you as only a wife can look after you—tocook for you, sew on your buttons, mend your socks! Tostarve with you if necessary, and be happy with you underany circumstances! Believe me, Robert, that is allI want!”

He laughed triumphantly into her hair.

‘Then that is all you shall have! You shall do all those thingsat the top of one of the tallest buildings in Paris, and yourworld will not be the world beyond the windows, but the

world within the four walls! It shall be our haven, ourparadise, and we shall need no greater bliss! My little one,my beloved, we shall have everything,

because we shall have each other!”

They clung together in a delirium of happiness, and itwasn’t until the light beneath the forest trees began to growreally dim that they realised that they would have to leave.Caroline gathered up the remnants that had to be returnedto the picnic basket, and he took it from her and theywalked together side by side in the soft, warm gloom thatwas already filled with the mellow fluting of an eagernightingale, and her hand was inside his arm and pressedclose to his side.

“Is your flat really at the top of one of the tallest buildings inParis?” she asked, with mild curiosity, just before he put herinto the car.

But he looked down at her with an oddly stem look aboutthe corners of his mouth and answered:

“No more of that to-night! We have talked enough aboutprosaic things. For the rest of this evening just let it be ourtwo selves!”

And her soft, upturned eyes agreed at once.

He put his hands on her shoulders and gripped them so

that she felt his fingers biting into the soft flesh, and hisvoice shook a little, and he looked rather pale, as he said:“But I am not a patient man, Cherie, and I cannot wait foryou! I want you desperately, and there can be no waiting!”

And then he shut the car door upon her, and she felt as ifshe was stirred right down to the very roots of her being.She was horrified as the thought passed through her mindthat she did not want to have to wait for him, either. Shewas so much in love that the very thought of waiting was likea penance....

When they came to the chateau it reminded her of t“I—I “ Caroline was beginning; and he was so

When they came to the chateau it reminded her of theevening when she had seen it for the first time, its towersreflected in the moat, the trees behind it moving gently inthe evening breeze. Nothing could have been morepeaceful, more gracious, more capable of arousing afeeling of regret because of the beauty that was going towaste. Caroline, who had fallen in love with it on sight—although what anyone would do with such a huge placenowadays she couldn’t think—let forth a sigh that escapedher almost without her knowledge as she stepped from thecar and looked up at the lovely stonework. Robert, who hadhastened round to assist her alight, caught the sound of thesigh, and saw the rapt look, and looked at her a littlecuriously.

“What is it, my sweet one?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, “except that—when I look up atthis, and realise what a perfect home it must once havemade, I wish -------- ”

“What is it you wish?”

She was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head.

“Oh, nothing,” she said again, and smiled at him.

His eyes were a little quizzical as he smiled back at her.

“If wishes were horses,” he murmured----------“But you’re

not suggesting poor Armand should live here, are you?”“No, but it seems such a waste. Surely something could bedone with it?”

He said nothing, but he guided her up the steps into thegreat-hall, and it was there that a figure sitting patiently on achair in the dimness, and impatiently smoking a cigarette,rose up and confronted them. Even in such an imperfectlight it could be seen at once that she was very slender andelegant, with a little Paris hat sitting at just the right angle onher sleek, coiled hair. Her features were small andpatrician, her eyes huge and shadowy and bored.

“Really, Armand,” she said, “your mouldering mansion isnot the most cheerful spot in which to wait for your return!But the woman who works for you said you were enjoyingthe simple delights and wandering somewhere in the forest,so I decided you would not be able to enjoy them once thelight failed.”

“And you waited!” he said.

His voice was still and quiet, just as if a stone had beenflung into a pool, and it was a question of waiting for theripples.

“Of course I waited!” She was looking at his companionwith interest. “You told me you would be away a few days,

and that was nearly a fortnight ago! There were two dinnerparties to which we were both invited, to say nothing of theweek-end you promised me. The quiet week-end when wewere to get away from everything... Don’t you remember,Armand, mon cherie?”

He said nothing.

The woman smiled rather brilliantly.

“So I came to find out what was keeping you.”

CHAPTER VII

“And now you have found out?” Armand de Marsacenquired, in a smooth, emotionless voice. He walked to anelectric light switch, and some of the shadows in the hallfled away. “You should not have sat there in the dark,Diane. You would have had a better view of us when wecame in if the light had been on,” with concentrateddryness.

“Yes, that is true,” she replied imperturbably, “but I couldn’tfind a switch, and your woman vanished. She appears tohave her work cut out running this place, and it is alsocluttered up with children! A most extraordinary situation!”She was staring at Caroline with increasing interest. “Tooyoung, Armand,” she observed, at last— “much, much tooyoung! And inexperienced, I would say! Not in the least yourtype!”

He appeared not to have heard this expressed opinion,and made a formal introduction.

“Mademoiselle Caroline Darcy, Mademoiselle DianeMontauban!”

Caroline stood as if turned to stone, but Diane Montaubanheld out a white-gloved hand.

“You look English,” she said. “Monique said there was anEnglish young woman staying here, recovering from somesort of an indisposition. I hope you have enjoyed your visit,mademoiselle, and that you find yourself in better health?Armand doesn’t do much entertaining here normally, butpossibly he has qualities as a physician that some of ushave never guessed at! Also I understand now why he wasanxious to get away for a break from Paris! You haveprobably met before?”

“We had never met before,” Armand struck in, with acurious whitening of the lips, and Caroline strove to forceher own lips to

frame some sort of utterance, but no words would come.She stood there beneath the glaring chandelier lookingyoung, pale and bewildered, the skirt of her summery dressstained with woodland moss, her small white sandalsstained also. Armand sent her a look that should havemeant something to her, but it didn’t, because in addition to

meant something to her, but it didn’t, because in addition tolooking bewildered she felt numb and unreceptive.

“Do you think I could have a drink?” Diane asked, removingthe enchanting little hat and shaking out her seal-brownhair, that had a curious tinge of red in it. “I arrived about anhour ago, and I seem to have been sitting here ever since.Monique offered me coffee, but I didn’t want any coffee. Iknow, however, that you won’t be without something morestimulating somewhere on the premises now that you areactually staying here, and I do badly feel the need of a littlestimulant.”

Armand led the way to the small room he and Caroline hadbeen using as a combined sitting-room-dining-room, andDiane looked about it with a flickering of interest. Shenoted the white panelling and the faded gold cornices, thecarpet that was not too faded to still have an appearance ofbeauty, and realised that this had been a little card-room atone time—a cosy, retiring room.

She also noted the roses on the table, the freshly plumped-up cushions, the decanters on a side table.

“You look as if you have made yourselves thoroughly athome here,” she remarked, smiling obliquely at Caroline.“But, then, I can hardly blame you! Armand is so soughtafter in Paris that it is almost impossible to get him alone,and being a sort of lion, and a magnet for mamas withmarriageable daughters—and others not quite so

desirable!—he has to be constantly protected fromdesigning females! That is one reason why I had to comeand look for him—in his own best interests, youunderstand? But you seem to have stolen a march on me,and have had him to yourself for nearly a fortnight! That isquite something, I assure you!”

“What will you drink?” Armand asked harshly, and it wassuch a grating, rasping harshness that her delicateeyebrows ascended a little.

“Darling, you know very well what it is that I drink! A little ginand a little vermouth, a dash of ------------ ”

“There is only sherry,” Armand told her. “Medium or dry. Wedon’t maintain a cellar here.”

“You surprise me,” she murmured, looked at him with amixture of quizzicalness and something more provocativein her regard as he handed her her drink, and then watchedhim perform the same function for Caroline.

But as he put a glass of sherry into her hand Caroline felt asif her fingers were too cold and stiff to hold it. His eyespleaded with her, but the pleading passed her by, foralthough surprise and shock were diminishing a little, coldtruth remained. Inescapable truth...! He was Armand deMarsac, and Robert de Bergerac was probably only afigment of his imagination! A cover for a masquerade that

had no doubt struck him as likely to be pleasing—amusing!—at the time when he adopted it!

She looked at him with an agonised coming to life in hereyes, but part of her still felt as if it was a little stunned. Hehad asked her to marry him—but it was Robert deBergerac he had asked her to marry, and apparently therewas no such person! He had had ample opportunity toexplain—to tell her the truth about himself; and even if hehad been afraid that she might not like the truth, at least,when you asked a woman to marry you, it was importantthat she should know the truth! And even when they arrivedhome that evening she had talked about the chateau—hehad mentioned Armand! But he had not said, “I amArmand, and therefore you can safely tell me what you feelabout the chateau. When we are married it will be yours aswell as mine!”

No; he had not said the obvious! And, in addition, therewas this exquisite young woman, Diane Montauban, whohad the air of belonging to as good a family as his own!

The exquisite young woman started to talk, while Armand’seyes implored Caroline to believe that he could put thingsright as soon as he had the opportunity. And as if shesensed that she had caused a kind of minor crisis Dianesaid with a note of humour in her voice:

“I have a feeling that I have interrupted something—

perhaps rather ruined something! But these littleinterruptions will occur in the most romantic idyll, and I havenever known you to go in for romantic idylls before,Armand! It is the very last thing I would have expected ofyou, so perhaps before very long you will be glad I arrived.For life is real and life is earnest...! And that reminds me,where am I going to sleep to-night? I feel like a little change,and I’ve brought a couple of suit-cases with me, and with somany rooms you are bound to have one you can put me in! Idon’t mind a little old-fashioned comfort, so long as there iselectric light!”

“You are quite sure you wouldn’t prefer the inn?” he saidstiffly to her.

She laughed softly, with what sounded like genuineamusement.

“Did you suggest to Miss Darcy that she should try the innwhen she first came here?”

The Comte bit his lip.

“Miss Darcy was not in a condition to stay in an inn whenshe first came here,” he replied, with that rather pale lookround his mouth that Caroline had noticed before.

“But she is better now...! Is there any reason why she shouldnot try the inn now?” Diane suggested, softly, and then a carflashed past the windows and illumined a whole corner of

the terrace outside. Armand uttered an exclamation.

“This is really too much...! This is more than I will endure...!”

He strode to the door and flung it wide, and voices in thehall warned him that already the occupants of the car wereentering his house, and one of the voices was loud and atrifle shrill and obviously feminine, while another femininevoice had a strong American accent, and a third male voicehad the meticulous preciseness of the Englishman in aforeign country, and feeling very strongly that he was out ofhis element.

“What about the cases?” said the male voice, “Shall I bringthem in, Aunt Pen, or do you prefer to wait until we discoverwhether there is a host to receive us?”

“No, bring them in, Christopher,” the loud, penetrating voicecommanded. “Armand is here. Unless the place is beingburgled, and I should think that’s hardly likely!”

Then she stood blinking in the open doorway of the littlecardroom, the light streaming out and enveloping her sothat she looked like a surprisingly diminutive, tweed-cladwitch rapidly twitching her eyes. They were brilliantly blueeyes, rather heavily made up for a woman who must havebeen well into her sixties, and the rest of her face wassaddled with paint, which was emphasised by the absurdlittle eye-veil that decorated the brim of a hat entirely

unsuited to wear with Harris tweeds. While the fact that sheseemed to be literally weighted down with jewellery—earrings, a double rope of pearls, brooches pinned to thelapel of her suit, a pendant that blazed in the deep hollow inher throat—rendered her appearance even moreincongruous.

“Lady Pen!” Armand exclaimed, and then submitted tohaving her arms wound tightly round his neck, while shesaluted him with a smacking kiss.

“Armand, you naughty, naughty boy!” she exclaimed. “Firstwe look for you in Biarritz, where we understood you wereto spend several weeks, and then when you are not there,and no one seems to have seen you, we try your Paris flat!In Paris nobody knows where you are, and so I decided thatthe sensible thing to do was to come here! Christopher’sinterested in architecture—Christopher’s my nephew,”waving a vague hand to indicate the extremely tall youngman who was struggling with suitcases in the great hallbehind them, “and so is Helen— Helen Mansfield,” sheadded. “Helen, my dear, come and let me introduce you tomy godson!”

“How do you do, Comte?” said the strong American accent,but looking up dully to catch her first glimpse of its ownerCaroline was conscious of yet another sensation of shock.For this was a decidedly pleasing young woman, withmagnificent teeth that flashed whitely as her soft pink lips

parted over them, a faultless complexion obviously welltaken care of, and gleaming fair hair worn in a chignon lowon her neck. She was dressed, as most Americantravellers are, smartly and well, and although, comparedwith the older Lady Pen she wore little or no jewellery, thefew pieces she did wear were obviously good. Very goodindeed, Caroline decided less vaguely, noticing how onelarge pearl attached to a shapely ear glistened as if it hadonly just been

extracted from its oyster shell.

“How do you do?” Armand returned, and was surprisedwhen his hand was gripped by the young woman with thefair chignon as if she was genuinely delighted to have anopportunity of shaking hands with him at last.

She explained: “I’m crazy about old French chateaux, andyours looks as if it would be an absolute peach in thedaylight. And this part of France is quite something! Don’tapologise for dragging us all the way from Paris, becauseI’ve enjoyed every moment of the run!”

“That is excellent, mademoiselle,” he said, rather stiltedly,but with the never-failing politeness of a Frenchman of hisrank. “I am delighted,” but his expression suggested that hewas not quite sure whether he was awake or dreaming.

His godmother shook her head at him.

“Armand,” she accused, “don’t tell me you have forgottenthat I told you I would be bringing Helen to Paris thissummer, and that I thought it would be a good plan for youtwo to meet?”

Diane cut in somewhat maliciously:

“Armand is a little forgetful sometimes—especially when hehas something new on his mind!”

“You mean when he is thinking up a new play?” HelenMansfield interpreted this incorrectly, but with a brightnessand eagerness that could have been highly flattering. “I loveyour plays. Comte I know perhaps I ought to be a littleshocked by them, too,” colouring until her clear skinsuggested a delicately powdered peach, “and folks athome are inclined to be that way about them! But I’mbroad-minded, and I was so disappointed there isn’t onerunning in Paris at the moment.”

“There will be one running in the autumn,” Armand informedher automatically, and then Christopher came into theroom, and introductions became a little less incoherent.

Caroline found herself being introduced after MademoiselleMontauban—largely because she held back on the fringe ofthings for as long as it was possible—and Lady PenelopePinder (“Call me Lady Pen, my dear!” said that lady atonce) stared down at her

rather hard for a moment, as if she was conscious of beingreminded of someone or something.

“Caroline Darcy,” she repeated rather musingly. “Did youhave an extremely fascinating grandmother called Caroline,who was at a finishing school in Paris the year before shemarried? If I can remember rightly her maiden name wasWade, and I formed one of those passionate attachmentsto her that young women sometimes do form for membersof their own sex who are much prettier than themselves.”

“My grandmother was Caroline Wade,” Caroline admitted,“and I know she did finish her schooling in Paris”

‘Then, my dear, you and I are already acquainted.! And Iwas devoted to your grandmother, and only hergranddaughter could have eyes that are exactly like violetssomeone has left out in the rain! .Armand,” delightedly,“isn’t this charming? Your little friend and I already knowone another!”

It didn’t seem to strike her as in the least strange that hergodson should have been discovered at last shut away inhis chateau with a couple of almost equally attractive youngwomen, for both of whom she could understand him feelingadmiration. But it was Caroline who began really to interesther, and beyond admiring Mademoiselle Montauban shedidn’t appear to wish to have very much to say to her.

“But this is delightful!” she declared, when ChristopherMarkham had been explained away as being on leave fromsomewhere on the west coast of Africa—a highlyconscientious District Commissioner was what Carolinelater discovered he was, and his appearance always madeher think of the Government Official who never neglected tochange into a dinner-jacket even when dining alone in anappalling climate, for he looked scrubbed, meticulous andEnglish. And she also discovered later that he could bevery charming. “There is something I didn’t expect, Armand!A little house party already under way! And now we shall beable to swell your numbers, and I’m sure we shall get onexcellently together, and you can show Helen something ofthe district while I have a rest after far too much travellingabout for my years! And Christopher can get Caroline hereto show him the district!” as if that was an idea that roundedoff things very nicely, even if it left Diane a little unclaimed.

But Diane merely looked faintly amused, and acceptedanother drink when it was brought to her by Christopherwith her own particular brand of slow, seductive smile, andlooking her over with brightening eyes he thought she wasproof positive that French girls had something.

Armand said nothing, but went on pouring drinks as if it wasan occupation that helped him just then; and later there wasa certain amount of confusion when Monique wassummoned to deal with the problem of the beds.

“Don’t trouble if everything isn’t as it should be,” Lady Pensaid, as if she naturally didn’t expect trimmings such asconstant running hot water and a service of chambermaidsin an infrequently used chateau; but would be disappointedif there wasn’t a hot-water bottle in her bed, even on a Junenight, and someone on hand to answer the bell if sheshould ring. “We are not sybarites, and we can make dowith very little. If only someone will unpack one of my casesfor me, and see that I’m not too far from a bathroom!”

Caroline rose to the occasion, and went to help acompletely bewildered Monique cope with a whole seriesof utterly unexpected problems. Armand watched her go,but he said nothing, and frantically searching through an ill-stocked linen cupboard for the required amount of linen,and afterwards stripping dust-covers from beds, filling hot-water bottles, and even lighting a fire in Lady Pen’s room,because it was big, and damp, and bleak, she had little orno time to think of him standing there in the little card-room,looking as if something had gone very badly wrong with hisworld, and that he was mutely protesting against it even ifjust then it was impossible to do so verbally.

And, later still, checking over a possible dinner menu withMonique, while they both sought to make certain there wereenough materials in the larder to ensure that it evermaterialised, she still had no time to think of him. Shewashed Thibault and put him to bed—with Jacqueline forcompany—in order to have him out of the way, persuaded

Marie-Josette to put herself to bed, and then listened to theendless sound of running water that seemed to fill everycorridor of the chateau while the invading army prepared toenjoy baths. After which, having promised to help with thelaying of the table when she had changed into anotherdress, she made her way to her own room, andencountered Diane—on her way to one of those noisybaths—journeying gracefully through echoing corridors in apeach-coloured dressing-gown that floated out behind her,and was so transparent that it hardly seemed to benecessary as a garment at all. She sent Caroline a queer,cat-like smile of enjoyment—the smile of a cat who has justlapped up a bowl of thick, rich cream—and thendisappeared into her bathroom and bolted the door noisily.

A precaution that was unnecessary because the bolt wasthe type that would yield to a heavy push, as Caroline haddiscovered during her early days at the chateau.And in herown case she had simply selected another bathroom,which had meant a longer distance to travel from her room.

When she reached her room she leaned against the doorand stood looking around it. It was exactly the same as shehad seen it last—exactly the same as she had seen it onthat first night, when old Pierre had stood at her elbow andtold her about the hot water, and a bat had flown past thewindow.

There had been the scent of climbing white roses, and the

night noises had come in clearly through the open window.There still was the scent of white roses, and one of themwas tapping gently against a pane of glass, and even asshe stood there an owl hooted derisively in one of the greattrees pressing close to the house. But other things were notthe same—her big four-poster bed, with its carvedcolumns, the cupids that looked at her from amidst theflowers and the grapes that were a part of theornamentation of the shining tester supports, was not thesame welcoming four-poster bed on to which Robert—no;Armand!—had so lightly deposited her after carrying her allthe way upstairs on that first night. Then everything aroundher had seemed peaceful and promising, the bed hadoffered her a tranquil night, and Robert—Armand!— hadspent the night on the terrace guarding her! Or so he hadsaid, but it was probably an exaggeration of speech, andhe had really felt disinclined to leave her alone because hehad been a bit anxious about her.

A young woman left alone in his own house who ought notto be left alone!

Tears rose, like the rising of a spring, to her eyes, and shecaught back a little moan of self-pity because a bubble hadbeen pricked, and everything was ended.

Oh, Robert, Robert... !

She dragged herself across the room and sat down on the

side of the bed, clutching at one of the bedposts andresting her head against it.

Robert with his bookshop in the Rue de Rivoli... hisbookshop that didn’t pay...! His flat at the top of one of thetallest buildings in Paris, his offer of poverty—and love... !Robert must surely have loved her when he held her in hisarms that afternoon and kissed her, and promised that sheshould do all the things a woman longs to do for the manshe loves... cook for him, and sew on his buttons, and mendhis socks! But that was Robert...! Armand was the Comtede Marsac, whom matrons in Paris chased afterdeterminedly because he was wealthy and titled and asuccessful playwright, and morals didn’t matter when youwere looking for a suitable son-in-law. A highly suitableson-in-law...! Armand probably had a most expensive flat,and no woman—certainly not a woman he married!—wouldever find it necessary to cook for him, or perform the menialtasks. Instead she would be expected to share his sociallife, get used to the idea of possessing a “lion” for ahusband, probably see very little of him when he wasworking, hear things about him that would pain her horriblyat times.... Unless she was someone like DianeMontauban, who was so eminently fitted—judging by thelittle Caroline had seen of her so far—to be the Contessede Marsac, with a chateau which she might visitoccasionally, unless she persuaded her husband to sell it...!

Or someone like Helen Mansfield, who exuded an aura of

possessions that would probably far outstrip anythingowned by

Diane—probably a rich American heiress!— who wascrazy about old French chateauxand might do much for theplace!

Caroline felt that the hard wood of the bedpost was like thehard

wall of reality against which she had been flung, and thetears started to well over her eyes and roll down hercheeks, and they rolled so fast and so miserably at last thatshe didn’t trouble to check them.

She didn’t even hear the knock when it came on the door,so sunk was she in her misery, and so certain that she hadbeen made rather worst than a fool of. A trusting, simplefool who had provided a diversion when it was needed!

CHAPTER VIII

AND since no one called out to him to enter, Armand—who had knocked very softly on the door—turned the handleand walked in.

Caroline sprang up from the foot of the bed as if a coiledspring had been released and the movement was purelydefensive. He could see the marks of tears on her face,and her whole appearance was so utterly wretched and

woebegone that he crossed to her swiftly and, taking herunwilling hands, tried to draw her right into his arms. Butshe fought him all at once with determination andsomething like fury.

“How dare you touch me. . . ! Leave me alone, please...!”“Cherie,” he pleaded, “I can’t bear to see you upset likethis!”

“I’m not upset, I’m.... And how dare you come walking inhere? This may be your house, but it’s my room—at leastuntil I go away! And you’ve left the door standing wide to thecorridor—everyone will know you’re here...!”

He returned to the door and shut it, carefully and quietly,and then he went back to her again. His expression was atrifle more grim.

“It doesn’t matter what everyone knows, because everyonewill know soon that you’re going to be my wife! I would havelet them know already, only I didn’t dare to do so when youlooked so—so shocked and upset. . . !”

“Did you expect me to look anything other than shockedand upset?” she enquired with dangerous quietness.

“I don’t know.” He sank down on the side of the bed and ranhis fingers through his thick black hair. It always had atendency to wave a little, and when he had done with it itlooked definitely unruly. His eyes, with rather a beaten

expression in the beautiful brown depths, looked ratherhelplessly about the room. “Oh, Carol, what an end to ourwonderful interlude!” he exclaimed.

“And that’s all it was,” she remarked, as coldly as before—”a wonderful interlude!”

He looked at her quietly, critically.

“Not this afternoon?”

“Yes—this afternoon!”

She turned away and went to her dressing-table.Mechanically she fumbled in a drawer for a handkerchief,and when she had found one scrubbed rather angrily at hereyes. Then, just as automatically—not caring that he waswatching her in a curiously absorbed manner—she dabbedat her face with a powder-puff, and ran a quick combthrough her hair. Then, feeling that she had donned at leastpartial armour, she turned back to him again, and walked towithin a foot of him.

“Did you think it amusing, at first, to make me believe youwere a friend of the Comte!”

He sighed.

“Perhaps it was amusing—just at first! You were so full ofharsh criticism of Armand de Marsac, and I could tell you

had made up your mind that he was of very little value in thescheme of things. I don’t think Marthe Giraud reallyintended to poison your mind against me—she and I havealways been the greatest of friends, as a matter of fact—but I think she was probably a little indiscreet in her letters.And you based your opinion on that discreetness in herletters, and I thought it best that you should not find outimmediately who I was. But later that very same evening Iwanted to tell you!”

“But you didn’t do so... ! You didn’t do so the next day, orthe day after that, or the week after that!” her face working alittle. “Not even this afternoon...!”

“Darling, I was trying to get around to it, but somehow I—Ikept putting it off!”

“And you asked me to marry Robert de Bergerac, whoprobably doesn’t exist at all! Or is it, by any chance, a partof your name?” faint hopefulness stirring in her.

He met the faint appeal in the dark violet eyes with rather ashamefaced shake of the head.

“No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t,” he had to admit. “I inventedit on the spur of the moment. It seemed as good a name asany—

at that time!”

She bit her lip until a tiny spot of blood spurted.

“And the bookshop, and the flat at the top of a tall building?”For an instant a gleam of pure mischief appeared in hiseyes, and even his lip twitched.

“Not Robert’s, I’m afraid. . . ! I do own a bookshop, but ithappens to be a very well run and successful bookshop,and my flat is in a modern block with an outlook over thewhole of Paris—or so it seems when you’re on the balconyoutside my sitting-room! It is actually a very pleasant andcomfortable flat, and I’m afraid,” the mischievous gleampersisting, although he recognised it was no time forflippancy of any sort or kind, “that it will hardly be necessaryfor you to occupy yourself with cooking or sewing on mybuttons, because I’ve an excellent housekeeper who doesall those things for me.”

“I see.” She tried to prevent her lip from tremblingnoticeably this time. “You must have enjoyed yourselfdrawing me out in your skilful way. . . ! The stupid, femininethings I wanted to do because I was in love...! But it wasRobert de Bergerac with whom I was in love, and it wasRobert de Bergerac who would probably have found me alittle flat at the top of an equally tall building, where I couldget used to the idea of sharing him with another lifealtogether—to say nothing of an illustrious name that henever had any intention of bestowing on me! And that youngwoman downstairs—Diane Montauban!—would probably

have seen him just as often, and being far cleverer than me,and with much more to commend her, would—and probablywill!—finally succeed in persuading a hardened bachelor tomarry. And that wouldn’t have made any difference to me,because that is the sort of arrangement even completelyrespectable Frenchmen go in for—a wife and a home anda mistress. . . !

“You little-------! Carol!” he exclaimed, and sprang up

and caught her by the shoulders. He looked, and hesounded, as if she had definitely succeeded in shockinghim. “Do you expect me to believe that you—you think I hadthat sort of intention in

mind? You think as badly of me as all that?”

His fingers hurt her shoulders, but she didn’t even wince.

“I think that Robert de Bergerac had a reputation of whichhe had no cause to be proud, but because he was Robertde Bergerac I could have forgiven him anything, andoverlooked everything—just because,” her voice tremblinguncontrollably, “I was so much in love with him! It didn’tmatter what he did, I—I would have gone on loving him!But,” making a sudden attempt to escape his hands, “youare someone I loathe! I couldn’t ever do anything else butloathe you!”

For an instant the brown eyes became so black that they

frightened her, and then the queer little lights that she hadseen in them before changed them altogether. Far frompermitting her to escape he drew her ruthlessly as close ashe could get her, and she felt his mouth scorching hers ashis kiss took her breath away. He kissed her in a fashion hewould never even have dreamed of kissing her thatafternoon—as if behind the violence of his desire to do sowas an even more violent desire to punish her for thingsshe had just said, and after striving fruitlessly to thrust himfrom her she resorted to faintly terror-stricken appeals.

“Robert...! Armand, please, please let me go... !”

She managed to get her mouth free, and she beat at himwith her fists.

“Let me go...! Armand, please...! This is cowardly...!” He lether go at once, but he was pale, and breathing hard. Helooked at her as if he disliked her.

“Have you any more accusations to hurl at me?”

“No.” She was still a little frightened, and her mouth feltbruised. She put up a shaking hand and touched it. “No.”

“And you’re not prepared to retract anything you’ve said?

You—you believe it all?”

“Yes.” She looked at him almost defiantly, although her

heart was hammering away within her, and behind thedefiance was a feeling of abjectness because his face wascolourless and his eyes were blank with hurt—and that hurtsent knife thrusts through every sensitive part of her being,and she wanted to dissolve into weeping. To weep for theirlost love, and their wonderful time together, that had beensomething stolen out of both their lives, because none of itwas real. “I believe you were merely amusing yourself—notonly at first, but—most of the time! I was something new inyour experience, and you couldn’t resist the temptation to—well, to take advantage of a rather unique situation. If youhad ever been serious you would have told me the truthabout yourself—at least you would have done so thisafternoon!”

She pushed the hair back wearily from her brow, andinconsistently enough she thought of Monique, rushed offher feet in the huge and rather primitive kitchen of thechateau, and waiting for her to keep her promise andhasten downstairs to help her by laying the table for dinner.

“Go, please,” she begged. “I must make myself respectableand go down and help Monique.”

“You are not a maidservant here.”

“No, but Monique is run off her feet, and it isn’t fair to expecther to do everything. She has waited on me so much, I musthelp her now.”

He sent her a long, and distinctly curious, look, and thenturned away abruptly, and stared at the floor, only partiallycovered by a threadbare carpet.

“Very well—if that’s the way you feel about things! AboutMonique amongst others...! But if I assure you that, in future,however great the temptation”—very drily—”to takeadvantage of a unique situation, I will never attempt to thrustunwelcome attentions on you, and that so far as I amconcerned at any rate you are safe for all time frombecoming the mistress of a French playwright—with orwithout a more permanent establishment that can be safelyrecognised, according to the habits of my countrymen!—will you promise not to do anything impetuous, such aspacking up your things and departing from here hurriedly?You still need a holiday— a rest! And Marthe is veryanxious that you shall have that rest! So, in order to please

Marthe, if no one else, will you give me your word to stay onhere for a time?”

She swallowed. Misery was swamping her, and at thesame time she was worried by the thought of Monique.

“I could stay on here and—and help Monique! I would behappy to do that! I mean, so long as your guests remain....”

He turned back and looked at her with a kind of harshmockery.

“You will wait on them for me? That is most kind—particularly as Diane Montauban is used to rather a lot ofwaiting on!”

She winced, but he didn’t notice the wince.

“And she might even turn you into a kind of personal maid,if you are willing! But in that case we shall have to think up asuitable recompense for you, won’t we?” even moreharshly. “A salary, perhaps? Because I should hate Dianeto receive the minimum of attention.”

She walked past him in the direction of the door.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I must go!”

“Certainly.” He moved aside from the doorway. “And may Isay that it was a pleasant little diversion while it lasted,Mademoiselle Darcy?”

CHAPTER IX

Caroline had no clear idea how the rest of that eveningpassed. She only knew that it did eventually passsomehow, and that she had very little time to devote to herown problems because the new arrivals caused personalproblems to fade into the background before the varyingdemands they made on an insufficient domestic staff. Ahopelessly insufficient domestic staff.

Monique grew hot in the kitchen, and consequentlyflustered. Nevertheless, the dinner she eventually servedwas well up to her highest standard, and ChristopherMarkham, who was the somewhat insular type ofEnglishman abroad who could put up with pests andpestilence in British Protectorates, but quickly grew tired ofContinental cooking, praised the meal unstintingly.

Possibly the near proximity of Mademoiselle Montauban,wearing something flame-coloured and startling—even inthe eyes of hardened Parisians—had a good deal to dowith his enjoyment of the highly seasoned courses. Andalthough he had driven a good many miles that day, andwas feeling very weary, he never once failed to replybrightly to any remark she addressed to him, and to look asif he was anxiously awaiting the next remark when it wasslow in coming.

Helen Mansfield did her utmost to monopolise Armand,whom she addressed as Comte’ in her rather broadAmerican accent. He listened to her flow of experiencesresulting from a very comprehensive world-tour,commencing almost as soon as she left school, with afaintly abstracted air, but was never-failingly polite andattentive and an extremely courteous host to all four of theguests he had never expected to entertain—at least, not inhis remote chateau. Occasionally his dark eyes restedrather thoughtfully on Diane, who was never toopreoccupied with her Englishman to spare him her slow,

seductive smile across the table appointments and thecentre-piece of flowers Caroline had arranged there, butCaroline herself he pointedly avoided looking at. And asMiss Mansfield left him with little excuse for looking atanyone but herself this wasn’t really as noticeable as itmight otherwise have been.

Lady Penelope talked throughout the meal almost nonstopto Caroline, and her disclosures were all connected withher schooldays in Paris, and the escapades she andCaroline’s attractive grandmother had got up to, includingone when they received and accepted invitations to a ballwithout the knowledge of the principal, and arrived back intheir dormitories afterwards through the connivance of alittle between-maid and a back door which was normallykept locked. On that occasion Caroline’s grandmother hadworn white satin and violets, and had fallen madly—although only temporarily—in love with a Ruritanian princeon a visit to the French capital. It had been a most excitingevening, followed by enormous boxes of chocolates andcolossal bunches of violets being received at the school forweeks afterwards.

“But in the end your grandmother married a clergyman, andsettled down very soberly and happily,” Lady Penconcluded, with a faint sigh for what might have been. “AndI never married at all!” She looked at Caroline with brightblue eyes that twinkled, in spite of having to make such anadmission. “I was born Penelope Pinder, fourth daughter of

an impoverished earl— although later in my life I was left asmall fortune by a devoted aunt!— and Penelope Pinder I’llalmost certainly die...! And now, does anyone mind if I go tobed? Fm finding it extraordinarily difficult to keep awakeafter my hectic experiences of the past few weeks!”

Nobody raised any objections to her going to bed, andCaroline by that time was feeling strangely exhausted, as ifshe had lived through experiences that had drained hermentally and spiritually, as well as physically. And althoughshe had no idea at what time the others retired, she wentupstairs herself shortly after Lady Pen, and when she saidgoodnight the four she left in the big salon looked as if theymight remain where they were for several hours, at least.

Helen Mansfield was as bright as when she started out thatmorning, and Diane Montauban had the sleepily contentedlook of a cream-fed kitten. And neither of the two menlooked as if they had the least desire to be anywhere otherthan where they were. Only Caroline, conscious ofArmand’s persistent cold avoidance, was—or felt—the oddman out.

The next morning she rose early, without waiting forMonique to bring her a tray of early morning tea, and wentdown into the kitchen to help Monique. The latter was sopleased to see her that her eyes brightened considerably,and she agreed at once when Caroline suggested sheshould take up Lady Pen’s tray.

Lady Pen looked even more diminutive in her enormoushalftester bed than she looked in her tweeds. Whilst inParis she had bought herself some completely unsuitablenightwear, and

Caroline was a little taken aback by the incongruity of herappearance as she approached the bed. But thebrightness of the old lady’s extraordinarily vivid blue eyesbanished almost immediately any desire to be critical.

“Don’t draw the curtains so early in the morning,” Lady Penbegged. “I’m never quite at my best very early in the day,and I like to get used to the fact that it’s daylight.”

Then, as if she only suddenly realised that it was Carolinewho had brought her her tray, she looked pleased andpatted the side of her bed.

“Come and sit down, my dear, and talk to me! You know,”she admitted, her eyes hanging a little enquiringly onCaroline’s smooth, fair, English face—so like, she wantedto keep on emphasising, the face of her grandmother—“Ihaven’t been quite able to satisfy myself what it is you areactually doing here? Diane Montauban is a different cup oftea altogether, but you— well, you must forgive me, mydear,” the blue eyes twinkling still more in spite of a certainsolemnity of expression, “if I’m a bit stupid, but you don tlook the type of young woman with whom Armand mightnormally be expected to associate—in a strictly

unconventional way, if you know what I mean!”

Caroline did know, and she felt herself colouring ratherbrilliantly.

“I tried to explain to you last night how I came to be here,”she said, occupying herself with pouring out a cup of tea forthe shrewd old lady. “The—the Comte tried to explain toyou, too, I think! “

This was true, for Armand had formally introduced her as afriend of Marthe Giraud who was staying at the chateau.

“Yes, b u t . . . L a d y Pen shook her dyed tresses, confinedby a cap of nylon net and lace, as if this was likely to provea little beyond her. “Young women like you—young womenof your type—don’t normally accept hospitality from abachelor unless there is someone else in the house to—well, to act as a kind of chaperone! Not that I’msuggesting,” hastily, “that you need to be chaperoned—atleast, you probably don’t need to be chaperoned, butArmand is—well my dear, I absolutely adore him, and he’squite a darling, but his reputation is not all that I canapprove of! I may be his godmother, but possibly for thatvery reason I can’t approve of everything he does!”

Caroline winced as if she had been struck by several flailsat this reference so early in the day to Armand’s unfortunatereputation, but if it had only been Robert de Bergerac the

old lady was besmirching she would have defended himhotly. As it was the Comte de Marsac she had nothing tosay—at least, only sufficient to clear her own reputation inthe eyes of Lady Penelope.

She explained about her illness, and Marthe’s unavoidableabsence, and Lady Pen gradually looked a little moreknowing. In fact, she looked surprisingly knowing.

“It is so like Armand to wish you to stay on here and haveyour holiday as if nothing had happened—he is the soul ofgenerosity!—but it is a little unlike him to stay on herehimself under the circumstances.” She looked at Carolinethoughtfully. “As I said just now—half terrified that you mighttake offence, and the last thing I would wish to do would beto offend my Caroline’s granddaughter!—you are not thetype with whom Armand would start an affair, and there areseveral excellent hotels in Le Fontaine where he could haveput up for a few nights if he was needing a little rural quiet,and they would almost certainly have made him verycomfortable at the village inn. But in fact he stayed onhere...

She went on regarding Caroline very thoughtfully, and thegirl found herself wondering—and feeling sharply curiousabout it— why this shrewd little woman of the world (as sheundoubtedly was!) should be so firmly convinced thatArmand would not start an affair with her. An affair thatwould be meant to terminate some day!

And perhaps because some of her puzzlement showed inher eyes, Lady Pen endeavoured to explain, gently:“Armand has a sort of code, and he likes to match hisweapons with his opponents—or people who are likely tobecome involved with him in some way or other! DianeMontauban, for instance, although I believe she comes ofan excellent family, knows all the rules....And he wouldn’thesitate to have an affair with her (which he is probablyhaving at this very moment, hence her arrival hereyesterday afternoon!) and if he never becomes seriousabout her, she won’t be hurt, because in her heart shedoesn’t expect him to be serious. Helen Mansfield, on theother hand, as nicely brought up as you have been, wouldmake him an excellent wife—and between you and me andthe gate post, that is one reason why I have brought herhere! I thought that Armand might recognise what anexcellent wife she would make—with money of her own, anundemanding disposition, and a certain healthy charm—and make up his mind and settle down with her. At least,”her old eyes all but glued to Caroline’s infinitely revealingface, “that is what I did think...” Caroline was glad that shehad come to the end of her sugary biscuits, and looked asif she would like some more, and she stood up eagerly andoffered to fetch her some.

“I thought you would like to have your breakfast tray a littlelater on,” she explained. “Monique is quite good at Englishbreakfasts, if you would like something more substantial

than rolls.”

“No, thank you my dear, I have to think of my figurenowadays,” smiling at her nevertheless as if she wasalready conscious of feeling affection for her. “But I shallstay in bed until lunch time, if that won’t cause anyinconvenience to anyone.”

Caroline assured her that it would cause absolutely noinconvenience, and the old lady recommended her to getout into the sunshine, remarking that she hardly lookedstrong enough to be bearing other people’s trays up to theirrooms, and she hoped she wasn’t about to perform thesame service for Mademoiselle Montauban, or MissMansfield.

“They are both thoroughly fit, and they can wait onthemselves,” she said, “if Monique can’t manage it. But youcan

go down and sun yourself, my dear.”

Caroline went down, but not to “sun herself”, although aftera more or less sleepless night she was feeling curiouslyused up. Pierre had once more been pressed into service,and he was unwillingly laying a breakfast table on theterrace, as he had done once before, when Caroline joinedhim, and she at once took the cutlery and the napkins out ofhis hand, and said she would do it herself.

“You go back to your kitchen garden, Pierre,” she said,gently. “I know you hate this sort of thing.”

Pierre gave her a grateful look, and then vanished withoutany more pressure having to be brought to bear on him.And it was while she was allocating the cutlery, and giving itan extra polish with a spare table napkin, that Diane andthe Comte came along the terrace.

Diane was wearing a candy-pink-and-white striped dressthat breathed Paris all over it—especially as the necklinewas very low—and about her absurdly slender waist was adeep belt of glowing rose-coloured suede that matched herrose-coloured finger and toenails, peeping from opensandals. Her sleek hair was banded about her head so thatit looked like a satin cap of sable highlighted here andthere with russet, and her eyes were huge and dark andprovocative as they roved between the Comtes face andthe breakfast-table.

Without looking up Caroline was aware that her hand wasresting familiarly in the crook of Armand’s bare, tannedarm.

“Well, this is nice,” Diane declared, as she surveyed thetable laid beside the parapet. “In Paris, of course, I wouldn’tbe up at this hour of the morning, but in the country onefeels differently about early rising. Also, of course, onesleeps better.” Her eyes rested speculatively on the English

girl’s face. “But you, Mademoiselle Darcy —you do not lookas if you slept in the least well! There are shadows beneathyour eyes, and you are pale—or is that because you arestill something of the invalid?” There was somethingmocking in the enquiry, as if she was perfectly well aware ofthe reason why Caroline had passed a sleepless night, andit amused her a little. But Armand, who had been trying toavoid looking directly at Caroline, accepted herobservation as an excuse to do so, and instantly hefrowned swiftly.

“I told you before that you are not a maidservant, Carol,” hesaid sharply. “It is not your job to do things that Pierre couldvery well do!”

“Isn’t it?” Diane leaned really heavily on his arm, and lookedup at him. “What is Mademoiselle Darcy’s job, and why isshe here at all?”

Caroline did not wait for his answer, but sped away to thekitchen, and when she returned she was bearing a basketof crisp rolls fresh out of the oven, and a crock of the goldenbutter Monique had sat up late the night before shaping intoa near impersonation of a swan drifting tranquilly, as theswans on the moat drifted tranquilly. The breakfast partyhad been swelled by being joined by Helen Mansfield—intight blue jeans and a crisp white top, that made her lookvery wholesome indeed, if not quite as feminine as sheought to look by comparison with the extremely feminine

French girl—and Christopher Markham, and all four wereleaning against the parapet and looking down into the moatwhen Caroline made her reappearance. Christopher,possibly a little piqued by

Diane’s open transference of her allegiance to Armand—who, after all, was her first conquest as well as her host—moved to take the basket of rolls from Caroline, and alsothe crock of butter, and as he did so he sent her a morediscerning glance than he had hitherto done. As a result ofthat glance he swiftly pulled out a chair for his fellowcountrywoman at the table, and smiled at her as if therewas something more between them than the bond ofowning the same nationality.

Armand joined the rest of the party at the table with faintlylowering brows, and as he passed behind her chair he saidin a low, fierce voice which only she heard:

“You are not to take on domestic tasks, do youunderstand?”

She looked up at him with a charming, and rather innocentsmile.

“Not until you have made up your mind whether or not itwould be worthwhile to pay me a salary?”

She had the firm conviction that he gritted his teeth as hesat down at the table, but he did not address her again

during the meal.

CHAPTER X

Later that morning the entire party inspected the chateau.They roamed around its ancient walls, peered at theirreflections in the moat, tried to track down the moorhen’snest, wandered in the overgrown rose-garden and yewalleys, and finally went indoors to admire the nowadaysnever-used banqueting hall, and climb to the very tops ofthe tall towers that overlooked the moat.

Oddly enough, Caroline had never been inside the towersbefore, and she realised that if she had, and seen theportrait of a slender dark man with mocking brown eyesthat hung above the fireplace in an enchanting little roundroom that had once formed part of the private suite of thepresent Comte’s mother, she would have known at oncewho Robert de Bergerac was. For the late Comte hadrepeated himself in miniature when his son was born, andstanding beneath the portrait looking up at his father theiridentical eyes met for a moment and they seemed toexchange a glance of complete understanding and accord.

Armand had allowed the rest of the party to surge on intothe next room, and only Caroline remained against thewindow, trying not to be aware of that portrait, and all that itshould have told her—and perhaps warned her of!

Armand looked round at her at last, mockingly.

“It may surprise you to know,” he said, “that my father andmother were very happy together—in fact, my mother wasridiculously devoted to my father! But he had the unfortunateFrenchman’s habit of looking for diversion elsewhere, andthis of course was highly regrettable! But, even so, mymother never looked unhappy, and she could bear thisportrait in her sitting-room! I expect you find that ratherremarkable, don’t you, Caroline?”

He had never called her Caroline before, and his eyes werehard and cold as he did so. And although it was he whoprevented her from twisting her ankle on the narrowstaircase leading up to the tower rooms, and had actuallysaved her from tumbling down them when her foot slippedand she missed a tread, by catching her and holding her sofast for a moment that her heart was clamouring wildly whenthey reached the top of the flight, he turned now and left heralone in the little room.

Feeling utterly forlorn and deserted she stood lookingaround her at the simple furnishings, thinking howunpretentious they were, and yet how attractive. There wasa little couch covered in yellow brocade, and a tiny Empiredesk of mellow golden wood like sunlight. Armand’smother’s work-basket—or it looked as if it was a work-basket—encrusted with mother-of-pearl, stood on a shelf ina little alcove, and a china bowl still held dried rose petals.

Caroline put a hand in amongst them, and felt them crumbleinto dust at a touch, and feeling that she had taken a libertyshe stepped back hastily and inspected a couple ofminiatures on the mantelpiece. They were exquisiteminiatures, and they were both of children, and one of themcould have been Armand when he was not much more thana toddler.

Caroline felt her heart beat quickly, as it had beaten on thestaircase, as she gazed at those curiously perfect features,not missing the Puckish line to the eyebrows, and the liquidbeauty of the great dark eyes. Then she lifted her own eyesto the portrait above the mantelpiece, and for an instant itseemed to her that the man who looked down at her shookhis head. It was not so much a disapproving shake, as afaintly pitying shake, and she felt as if her heart lept up intoher throat.

“Oh, no,” she actually whispered, as if she wasendeavouring to make herself understood. “I couldn’t—Icouldn’t share him” And then she added, more flatly: “And Iwouldn’t!”

She turned away from the portrait, as if it embarrassed herto meet that steady regard, and the vague tumult into whichall her emotions had been flung was calmed as soon asshe passed beneath the low arch that framed the doorway,and in an adjoining room she heard Diane protesting alittle.

“Armand, I don’t like it up here!” She was clinging to his armand pressing close to him. “Your mother must have been anextraordinary woman to wish to be so isolated, but I—I amnot in the least extraordinary, and I find it eerie!”

Armand stood looking down at her with an amused smile.“That is because you are not used to the country, my littleone. You see too much of the bright lights!”

“With you, Armand,” she assured him, putting back herhead until it actually rested against his shoulder, “I wouldendure even the country! But you could not live away fromthe bright lights for long!”

“Which just shows how well you know me, cherie Armandexclaimed softly, and without pausing to be absolutelycertain they were alone bent and pressed his lips to thesilken dark hair that was coiled so neatly about her smallhead. With a gesture of responsive Latin abandon she flungup her arms around his neck and almost thrust her mouthagainst his, so that he would almost certainly have beenless than human if he hadn’t taken advantage of thetempting nearness of those delicately scented scarlet lips.

Caroline, who witnessed the entire performance, turnedand blindly negotiated the difficult stairs until she foundherself at the foot of the tower, and feeling a trifle sick sheeventually made her way out on to the terrace. ChristopherMarkham and Miss Mansfield were already there, and

when the others joined them drinks were called for and theysipped pre-lunch aperitifs in an atmosphere of pleasingsunshine and a gently breeze that actually rippled thesurface of the moat.

Helen Mansfield, who had been forced to yield place toDiane whilst the actual exploration of the chateau wastaking place, managed, while Diane was accepting anotherdrink, to unobtrusively insinuate herself into a chair besideher host, and from then on she determinedly captured hisattention, and Caroline and the rest had to listen to herexclaiming over the beauties of the chateau. She thoughtthat sun umbrellas on the terrace were the only items ofimprovement it lacked, was amazed that no film producerhad sought to make a film there, and didn’t seem to thinkthat Armand was serious when he replied—with anunusually serious look on his face—that during hisownership of the place no film producer would be allowednear enough to take advantage of possessing a filmcamera. And then, when it did occur to her that he waslooking a little remote and cool, obviously put herself out toentice him back into a sunny humour by copying a leaf outof Diane’s book and becoming extremely feminine withhim. Caroline felt that unpleasant sensation of actualphysical nausea at the base of her stomach growingstronger as the American girl used wiles that were obvious,but excusable, because she was so undeniably attractive,and when she found that they were meeting with a halfamused response opened up the battery of her charms to

its fullest extent. Just before Caroline decided that therewas still time before lunch to pick some red currants

Monique required for a fruit tart for dinner that night, shewas unable to close her ears to a frankly wooing note inHelen’s voice, while for the first time Diane looked likesomeone jolted out of a state of complacency.

It was slightly revolting, Caroline thought—even if one wascompletely disinterested—to see two women openly andapparently seriously competing for the attentions of oneman. And she never knew whether anyone really did protestas she went down the steps, but she had a distinctimpression that Armand called after her that it was too hotfor picking fruit.

But she made her way to the kitchen garden like one whowas almost over-anxious to be alone, and amongst thecurrant bushes she certainly had a kind of seclusion. Butnot for long, for Christopher Markham joined her just as shewas beginning to fill her basket.

“Can you beat it?” he asked, after helping himself to someof the ripe fruit. “Two women determined to make fools ofthemselves over one man! And that a Frenchman with avery low set of moral values, unless the reputation heseems to have acquired was never really earned!”

Caroline said nothing, but she went on with her picking, and

he lighted a cigarette and stood watching her for a momentbefore starting to help.

“I’m glad to say that, as a fellow countrywoman of mine, youdon’t seem to be very badly smitten yourself,” he remarked,after observing that the cigarette smoke would help to keepthe flies off. “Aren’t French playwrights with an aura ofwickedness and the glamour of a title very much up yourstreet?” He sent her a flickering smile and she lookedfaintly surprised. “My aunt informs me that you aren’t, as I atfirst supposed, a particular friend of the Comte, but a friendof his housekeeper, who has been taken ill, or something ofthe sort. Is that really right?”

Caroline admitted that it was.

“And you yourself have been ill? I’m sorry about that,” headded, thinking that with her bright hair tumbling about herface, and her simple flowered frock, she was the type of girlhe could honestly admire. And he also found himselfwondering why he had been so captivated the night beforeby a French girl who hadn’t struck him as nearly soattractive in the cold, hard light of day. Unless it was that heresented being made use of, if only for a short time.

“Oh, I’m quite all right now,” Caroline assured him, smiling alittle. “This is such a lovely spot that it would be mostungrateful to remain an invalid for long.”

“You like France?” he asked. “You know it well?”

“No, as a matter of fact this is my first visit.”

He looked about him at the quiet kitchen garden, backedby a spreading orchard, backed by the towers of thechateau itself.

“Pastoral Franco,” he remarked. “Very pleasing, if you likethis sort of thing, but I like my corners of the earth to be alittle less civilised.”

“You’re referring to Africa?” she asked.

He sent her his friendly smile.

“Yes, Africa...! Ever been there?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m completely untravelled”

“That can always be put right. One of these days you maytravel a good deal.”

“I don’t think so.” She wished he wouldn’t eat quite so muchfruit, but would instead deposit a little more in her basket.Bending her back and her head was becoming a little tryingin the hot sun. “You have to be rich to travel, and I’m neverlikely to be rich.”

“You will marry! You might marry a man who will take you

abroad.”

“I might,” she admitted, as he seemed to be regarding heralmost speculatively, and then straightened and said shedidn’t think she could go on gathering currants. The sunwas striking right down on the back of her neck.

Instantly he was all concern, and whipped off the silkhandkerchief that was knotted about his neck and insistedon her tying it over the bright brown hair. When theyreturned to the terrace at last, Monique was just booming aluncheon gong, and the others were about to go inside. ButArmand’s glance rested at once on the headdress Carolinehad only recently acquired, and unless it was purely herimagination his expression darkened a little, andthroughout lunch he pointedly refrained from addressingany remarks to his only male guest.

But, remembering with painful vividness that kiss in thetower room, Caroline found it required no effort at all tomake up for the host’s neglect, and address all herconversation to Christopher. And his response, if she hadbeen in a mood to be aware of it—which she was not!—was highly flattering.

That night dinner was served in the main dining-room of thechateau, and by that time Monique had been grantedenough help to make some sort of a display possible.

A couple of girls from the village had arrived in response toan S.O.S., and as they were both quietly capable girlsMonique was no longer flustered. And Pierre was pressedinto service as a waiter, and the service of the meal wasconsiderably quicker than the night before.

The main dining-room at the chateau was a lovely room,and Caroline had often wandered in it alone when she andits owner had the place to themselves. It was lighted at bothends by tall windows, and the floor had a shining pitch ofpolish which was the result of many

centuries of devoted attention on the part of housemaids,particularly when housemaids were more easily come by.The furniture was elegant, and Caroline was surprised thatso much of it remained intact when the Comte had had tolive through bad days before his good fortune came to him.It would have been reasonable to suppose that he wouldhave disposed of most of it, but he had not done so. One ortwo of the more valuable pictures had gone from the wallsand the original chandelier that had lighted the baredshoulders and the powdered wigs and the brocades of somany of his ancestors and their invited guests, had beenreplaced. But otherwise the room was much as it hadalways been, or at any rate as it had been since thebeginning of the eighteenth century, or thereabouts.

The chairs were covered with damask that was the colourof rich claret, and the heavy brocade curtains that were

inclined to crumble at a touch were claret-colour also. Thesideboard gleamed with silver, and numerous side-tableshad graceful Hepplewhite legs. The long dining-table itselfgleamed like a mirror after the attention it had receivedfrom Monique earlier in the day, and once more Carolinehad been called in to arrange flowers. She had chosensome very dark red roses from the rose-garden, and thescent of them hung like incense in the room. Candlesflickered in glittering candelabra, and made it unnecessaryfor the electric lights to be switched on, and the movementsof Pierre were almost in shadow as he carried the variousdishes to the guests.

To-night the women—that is to say Diane Montauban andHelen Mansfield—had donned spectacular dresses.Diane’s looked as if it was made out of pearl-colouredmoth’s wings, and Helen’s was a creation she had foundtime to have made for her specially in Paris when theyhalted there. Lady Pen, who had emerged from her roomaround about tea-time, looked sombre but arresting in verytight-fitting black velvet, and only Caroline was conscious oflooking rather inadequate.

She had not come to Le Fontaine prepared for socialevenings or occasions when she would be required to lookparticularly smart, and the only “dressy” type of frock shehad with her was a little navy blue silk that looked almostseverely neat by contrast with the magnificence of theothers. But her hair had been brushed until it shone—

mistily gold in the candle flames—and her make-up wasmore carefully applied than normally, so that there wassomething really lovely about the small face bent a littledemurely so that she appeared to be constantly peeringinto her lap, rather than looking for any sort of admirationfrom either of the two men present.

Both wore well-fitting dinner-jackets, and it was the firsttime Caroline had seen Armand in a dinner-jacket. Her onequick glance at him when he handed her a glass of sherryin the main salon before the meal started had come verynear to undoing her. For, with the action of handing her herglass his dark eyebrows had ascended a little, lending himthat Puckish, definitely endearing look that was one of thefirst things she had noticed about him, and his eyes hadlooked velvety and enquiring and only just a little mocking.For an instant, as they gazed full at one another, and hisimmaculate linen had made his bronzed face look so muchmore bronzed, and his hair had seemed to be waving likeblack satin under the lights, she had wanted to go ongazing her fill, and even to touch his hand impulsively whenhis fingers came so near to hers.

But somehow she had conquered the impulse, and themockery in his eyes had been much more noticeable whenshe had ventured to glance at him again. And, after that,she had deliberately refrained from glancing at him at all.

He took the head of the table in the dining-room, and Lady

Pen faced him at the opposite end. She looked along it, atthe flowers and the flickering candles, and her old blue eyeslighted with pleasure.

“This is something you should do often, Armand,” she said.“Entertain your friends here in your own country house! Somuch more delightful than being invited to your flat in Paris,or taken out to a restaurant where the food can bedepended on, but everything else is lacking! Noatmosphere ... Not this sort of atmosphere anyway.”Armand looked a little quizzical, and there was just a touchof wryness about his quizzicalness.

“And am I supposed to maintain an unwieldy property ofthis sort in order to entertain my friends occasionally?” “No,but you could get married and settle down here,” came thelightning-like reply. ‘That is to say, you could live in a cornerof it, and do something useful with the rest. Children wouldthrive here, and it’s such a pity to waste what your forbearshanded onto you.”

The Comtes expression grew definitely rather impish, “Younot only saddle me with a house in which it would be nextdoor to impossible to live comfortably without expensivestructural alterations, but I now find that I am to acquirechildren!” He laughed softly, the impishness invading hislaughter, making it sound velvety but mocking. “I, who am aconfirmed bachelor! That is not good enough, Lady Pen!And it is unlike you to make such an unconventional

suggestion when I am a confirmed bachelor!”

“I suggested that you got married,” she returned, rathertartly. “And you needn’t pretend that you don’t like children.”

“I do, oh, I do! I am devoted to Monique’s two smallencumbrances, who seldom leave me alone when I amhere! But those are Monique’s responsibilities, and notmine—thankfully! I am not the paternal type.”

“I am quite sure you could be, and I think it’s high time youacquired a few responsibilities. They might help to settleand sober you.”

“And is it so important that I should be settled andsobered?”

“If you are not to waste your life altogether, yes,” sheanswered, looking at him almost reproachfully along thelength of the table. “It is one thing to write plays that bringyou in a lot of money, but that is not living your life to the full.There are other things more important than writing plays.”

“Such as?” he enquired, with gentle mockery.

“I have just told you—getting married, for one thing!” “Andyet you have never been married yourself, dear Lady Pen,”he mocked her even more softly. “Why is it that you aresuch an advocate for this

state that you know nothing about?” She tightened her lipsand shook her head at him. “What I did with my life is notwhat you should do with yours, and I would be the last toadvise that those for whom I have a fondness should copymy example. Young things should marry.” She shifted herglance and looked thoughtfully at Caroline. “In that way youavoid loneliness in later life,” and she sighed a little as ifshe had experienced a certain amount of loneliness herselfin a long lifetime.

“Dear Lady Pen!” Armand said, with caressing gentlenessthat no longer held any mockery whatsoever. “You shouldcertainly have married that curate you once told me about—the one who insisted that central African peoples, theirdiseases and their ignorance, had a far bigger claim onhim than any woman could possibly have! And even incentral Africa you would probably have enjoyed yourself!But I—I am a different kettle of fish altogether, and even if Ifelt like getting married and astonishing my friends, who isthere who

would have me?”

He seemed to look deliberately round the table, ignoringCaroline—at least his glance passed right over her—givinga certain amount of reflective consideration to HelenMansfield, who flushed quickly and almost painfully whenhis eyes rested on her, and then finally dwelling upon DianeMontauban. Her huge eyes hung upon his with a kind of

flickering light in them as if surprise had leapt up, andbehind it a whole world of response was waiting to berecognised.

“Would you consider that I would make a good husband,Diane?” he asked.

Her brilliant lips seemed to tremble for a moment, and hereyes positively glowed. Then she answered as if she washoping to shock everyone else at the table.

“You would probably make a very bad husband, but wouldthat matter? Would any woman mind? Since you areArmand!”

“Would you?”

Lady Pen caught her elbow against her wine-glass and itoverturned, and the little wine that was left in it ran tricklingacross the polished surface of the table, staining a lacetable mat. Lady Pen clicked her tongue in irritation.

“Such a pity!” she exclaimed. “Monique will probably find itdifficult to remove that stain, and one hates to spoil apolished table.” Then, as if they were not all waiting forDiane’s reply—or, at any rate, the other two women were—she turned to Helen on her right hand and suggested:‘There is a chess-board Armand unearthed for me lastnight. Will you spare me a solitary game of patience andplay chess with me, Helen, once we have had our coffee?”

“Of course,” Helen answered, and her tone was verysubdued, as if that eager challenge in Diane’s eyes hadsobered her, and the fact that the Comte’s look had sodeliberately passed her by had put him into a freshperspective where she was concerned.

While Helen and Lady Pen played chess, the hostwandered off—no one quite knew where—with Diane, andChristopher invited Caroline to take a stroll in the rose-garden.

It was the one corner of the grounds where the scents werebewildering when night closed down. A corner of perfumedpeace, where the paths were littered with rose petals, andthe steps leading down to it were in such a crumbling stateof decay that Christopher thought it advisable to take herarm and hold it securely while they negotiated them, andshe was hardly conscious of his touch because herthoughts were nowhere inside the rose- garden. She wasvaguely aware of the graceful pieces of statuary theypassed—the boy on the edge of the sunken pool, the girlwith the delicate air of a shepherdess—and she knew thatChristopher was talking to her softly, as was only fitting onsuch a calm and beautiful night, of the places he hadvisited, and the things he planned to do with his life, but shehad no real interest in what she was listening to. She washalf prepared to come upon the owner of the chateau andhis obviously most favoured guest—even although she was

self-invited!—at any moment, and her mind was alreadyfilled with something approaching panic because themoment when this happened might prove exceedinglyembarrassing for all four.

Not that Christopher would be likely to be veryembarrassed, but she ---------------------- !

She bit her lip, and then hurried forward along the shadowypath, so that inevitably her foot caught in a piece ofloosened stonework, and but for Christopher’s supportinghand she would have stumbled and probably measured herlength on the path. He looked at her a little

curiously under the velvety cover of the night, thinking thatshe looked a little pale suggested that she might like toreturn to the house.

“I don’t suppose you’re very strong just yet” he said, “andyou’d rather a hectic time last night helping Monique. I’mafraid it was a bit of an imposition our arriving unexpectedlyas we did.”

“I’m sure the Comte didn’t think so,” she heard herselfmurmuring. “He seems to be very fond of your aunt.” “Andmy aunt, for some reason, is very fond of him!” Heshrugged, as if there was no accounting for tastes, and thenpiloted her carefully back to the house.

Just before they reached the foot of the nearest flight of

terrace steps her eyes wandered upwards to the top of thetower they had climbed that day, and considerably to hersurprise she saw that a light burned in the small round roomthat was the sitting-room of what had once been theComtes mother’s suite. Caroline stared hard at it,wondering whether the Comte was alone up there—forsurely no stranger would venture to find their way to thesuite without his permission?—and Monique wouldscarcely be likely to do so at this hour.

Therefore it must be the Comte and he was hardly likely tobe alone....

But as they crossed the threshold into the big salon whereLady Pen and Helen Mansfield were still playing chess, thevoice of Diane Montauban came clearly to their ears. It wasthin, and peevish, and bored.

“Well, if no one’s going to talk to me, or amuse me in anyway, and Armand persists in absenting himself— which isterribly inconsiderate of a host!—I’m going to bed! I can dowith an early night, anyway... ”

CHAPTER XI

THE next two days passed in rather an unreal fashion forCaroline, who had the feeling that she had no right to bewhere she was, but being where she was she couldn’t dragherself away. More than once she took down her suit-case

from the top of her huge, old-fashioned wardrobe, andstarted to pack the few clothes she had brought with herfrom England. But it was just as if by merely arriving at theChateau de Marsac she had sent out roots that had gonedelving into the rich French soil without her knowledge, andit was going to be the most painful operation of her life topull them up ruthlessly, as she would very soon have to doin any case.

It would have been different if she had had any excuse forremaining, but with Monique receiving assistance from thetwo village girls who arrived each morning on the stroke ofnine, and remained for as long as they were required, therewas really little point in her offering to help Monique. Shetook the two children

for walks, and kept them out of the way of the othermembers of the house party, and she delighted in puttingthem both to bed, and sharing an hour of fun with thembefore their bedtime arrived; but these were thingsMonique could have found time to do herself, and neither ofthe two small Benoits had been greatly fussed over sincebirth, and they were a remarkably self-sufficient pair, whocould very easily put themselves to bed, and keepthemselves entertained.

Nevertheless, Monique was grateful, and Caroline foundherself

more and more drawn to the resourceful young womanwhose husband was still serving a term of imprisonment.Monique had apparently accepted the fact that the man shehad married was a “bad lot”, and that the support of thechildren would be her affair in future—at any rate untilMarcel Benoit was released from prison—-but she plainlywasn’t the type to rebel against adverse circumstances.She accepted them naturally, as if they were a part of thevicissitudes of life, and was seldom anything but cheerful ina quiet, composed and un-shakeable fashion. In fact,Caroline became certain that the sky would have to be verynear to actually falling, and disaster imminent, beforeMonique allowed her curiously complacent facade to dropfrom her.

She had allowed tears to roll down her cheeks thatafternoon when the Comte and Caroline had called uponher at her cottage, and the Comte had indicated to thechildren that there was a present hidden away in one of thepockets of his car. But those had been tears of gratitude,and because she had been strongly moved—as Carolinehad realised at the time. And the reason why she had beenstrongly moved was because the man Caroline hadbelieved to be Robert de Bergerac had been very good toher and her family—perhaps rather more than “Very good”to them!

Caroline thought so often of that afternoon, and she thoughtof every afternoon she had passed in the company of the

chateau’s owner. There had been a dreamlike quality ofperfection about them that she felt certain would nevertouch her life again. Discovering how a man’s exceptionallybeautiful dark brown eyes

could both gleam with amusement and glow a little withtenderness at the same time. How that tenderness couldinvade his voice until his extremely attractive accent whenhe spoke English became much more than a mere accent,because emotion of any sort or kind interfered with hisknowledge of the language. They had laughed togetherwhen he had drifted into such rapid French that herschoolgirl variety, that he had accused her of acquiring at aselect seminary on the south coast of England, simplywouldn’t rise to following what he said, or was attempting toconvey. And as a result of these moments when a slightimpasse seemed to have been arrived at he schooledhimself into an Anglo-Saxon calm and undertook toimprove her knowledge of his own tongue, with the resultthat she was becoming really fluent when the four otherpeople descended upon them.

Afternoons spent sitting beside him at the wheel of his car,

afternoons in the woods, beside the stream.... In particularone

afternoon that she would never forget.. Evenings on theterrace, watching the sun go down, and the shadows start

stealing across the shining surface of the moat, waiting forthe first owl to start hooting, the first nightingale to lift up itsvoice.... Watching the Charlemagne towers outlined againsta starry night sky when they took a brief stroll in the rose-garden before she retired at a respectable and necessaryhour when she was still not much more than convalescent....

No one could have been kinder to her, more considerate,more correct about their curious isolation. It was almost asif he went out of his way to observe a punctiliousness thatwas entirely designed to put her at her ease in a situationthat could get a little out of hand, and her gratitude for hisunderstanding behaviour had caused her to fall more andmore in love with him....

For she had started to fall on that first evening...

Sometimes she asked herself what it was she wanted,what she expected—and why she expected it, whensomething at least had been offered her. Whatever hersecret thoughts of Diane Montauban she was ready to pickup every crumb of notice Armand flung her, and even Helen

Mansfield, with her background that meant security, andpossibly a wide enough experience of the male sex in spiteof the fact that she wasn’t very old, since she appeared tohave travelled far and wide, had been ready to fight for him,until it looked as if the fight might go against her. And, evenso, she was still hoping....

Armand and women were like a magnet and the things thesteel points attracted. Apparently he would go on attractingthem all his life, until perhaps one caught him and tamedhim....

But Caroline told herself fiercely that although he had askedher to marry him he hadn’t meant it to be a seriousproposal of marriage, otherwise he would have admitted toher who he was. And feeling certain that what he hadexpected of her she would never be prepared to give shetold herself that it was a sign of weakness that she shouldremain at the chateau, and that the sooner she overcamethat weakness the better. But it was something thatMonique said to her—or, rather, revealed to her—thatmade it even more curiously difficult to do what she wouldhave expected any other young woman in her position,circumstanced exactly as she was, to do without anyhesitation whatsoever, if only for the sake of her pride.

Monique had formed the habit of giving her tea—orsometimes coffee and cakes, hot out of the oven—in herkitchen in the midmornings, while the others were eitherout, or occupied in some way that left the English girl withno excuse to take part in their preoccupations. Not that shehad any desire to take part, although Christopher Markhampressed her constantly to let him drive her here, there andeverywhere, and Lady Pen seemed to have formed asufficiently strong attachment for her to be glad to have herto sit with her when she appeared outside her room. And

even Helen Mansfield liked to talk to her occasionally, anddiscuss—very much to her detriment— the strange lack ofdignity displayed by Diane Montauban in her open pursuitof the Comte.

It hadn’t apparently occurred to the American girl that herown pursuit of the Comte was—or had been— scarcelyless open, and that the faint snub she had received at thedinner table was the only reason why she wasn’t pursuinghim madly

at the moment. And Caroline had the feeling that beforelong she would recover from that snub, and the chase wouldbe on again.

Only Diane Montauban persistently avoided her—andlooked at her on occasions with a kind of marked dislike—and Armand was so consistently in the company of Dianethat he had little time to devote to anyone else.

All four, however, were out—Lady Pen being the only onewho still occupied her room—-on the third morning after theunlooked-for arrivals, and Caroline wandered into thekitchen more for company than anything else, feelingstrangely alone in that great, echoing chateau.

Monique was indulging in an orgy of baking, and thekitchen smelled warm and spicy. Thibault was sitting in arather cleverly contrived high chair at the table, drinking -

milk out of a wooden bowl, and banging with a spoon onthe table. Marie-Josette was talking with great seriousnessto a doll attired in faded garments, and pushing crumbs ofcake into her mouth, and Jacqueline the cat was curled upas if the weather was very cold indeed, almost on top of theshiny range.

Monique turned from her oven and smiled at Caroline. Shewould never forget that the girl had come to her assistancewhen assistance was badly needed.

“It is for the elevenses that you come?” she asked. She hadmade up her mind that all English people indulged in“elevenses”, and that it was a kind of national institution.She carried the coffee-pot over from the stove, and pouredsome into an attractive blue cup, and then added enoughcream to make a delectable beverage. After which sheplaced a flat cake filled with currants and mixed with spice,rather like an Eccles cake, on a plate in front of the girl, andthen sat down herself to enjoy a rest, and a little lightgossip. “It is not so pleasant here now as it was a few daysago,” she remarked, pushing a wisp of hair out of her eyes,“with so many people all liking the different kinds of dishes.It is not so easy to please.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you do please everyone,” Carolineassured her

warmly. “You are such a splendid cook.”

But Monique shook her head.

“That American lady, she does not like the fatty foods foodscooked in butter, you understand, which is as we Frenchpeople prefer that they shall be cooked—andMademoiselle Montauban is thinking only of her figure, andwould live only on the juice of the fruit, and the endless cupsof coffee! The old one—Lady Penelope—she is easy toplease, but she wishes always for the English breakfast,and Monsieur Markham he wishes always for the roastbeef! And the horseradish sauce, which goes with roastbeef!”

She shook her head, as if it was all getting her down a little,and Caroline commiserated with her, and remarked forsome reason that the Comte at least was easy to please.He had a healthy appetite, and enjoyed most things.

“Ah, Monsieur le Comte...! ” Monique’s eyes grew almostfond, as if whatever the Comte, her employer and landlord,did, it would meet with favour in her eyes. “Monsieur leComte is always considerate, and if one had him only tolook after life would be very simple.” Then she looked atCaroline a little curiously. “When he first comes here thistime he pretend to be Monsieur de Bergerac, and he tellsme Mademoiselle thinks he is Monsieur de Bergerac, andso I say nothing! It is perhaps another of his names he usesfor his plays and I think that perhaps Mademoiselle isinterested particularly in his plays...?”

Caroline felt herself colouring.

“I—I haven’t seen any of his plays, but I understand that theyare very—very clever,” she said.

Monique looked as proud as if she herself had just laid agolden egg.

“He is famous, mademoiselle,” she exclaimed. “He is veryfamous! And his plays they run in Paris for weeks, andmonths, and years!”

“Really?” Caroline thought it best to feign a certain amountof ignorance, and Monique went on enthusing and extollingthe brilliance of Armand de Marsac, and the excessivepopularity of everything he had ever written. And—glad thatshe had got off the

subject of Robert de Bergerac—Caroline sipped her coffeeand listened, and was only brought up short when Moniqueintroduced her own purely personal affairs. “It is because Iwould do anything—anything!—for the Comte that I wish tomake his guests happy, and to feed them in the way hewould wish. If their stay here is not all that he would desirefor them, then I—and I alone!— will be to blame, and that issomething that must not happen! For, mademoiselle.,”lowering her voice confidentially, although Thibault wasbanging so loudly with his spoon that it was difficult to hear,“Monsieur le Comte has been to me and mine so good that

I find it difficult to speak of it.” She certainly seemed to bestruggling with a sudden uprush of emotion. “It is not onlymy husband—he did all that he could to provide for him theright kind of defence, although,” sadly, “no real defence waspossible! But there was my eldest girl, Madeleine, who wasso sick that she had to be sent away for care andtreatment, and Monsieur paid for her to become well againat a very special sanatorium in the mountains. She is somuch better now that soon she will be coming home to me,and it is all— all— due to Monsieur le Comte.When I hadnot a franc to buy bread for Thibault and Marie-Josette henot only filled my purse, but put money into the bank—thebank!—for me, Monique Benoit. And there is money therestill, although I do not need to touch it while I am workinglike this. So you see, mademoiselle” the tears rolling blindlydown her face as they had rolled once before, “it isbecause of these things that it would grieve me very much ifhis guests were not fed as they should be fed, their roomslooked to, and their comfort assured...” Caroline sat as ifshe. had been turned all at once to stone, and deep downinside her a kind of dismay was spreading—dismay thatshe didn’t know how to combat.

“Whatever some people might say of Monsieur le Comte—and even in such a remote, small town as Le Fontainepeople do talk!— all that I will ever have said of him is thathe is goodness itself, and that his generosity is such as fewpeople would understand.” Monique concluded, “Very fewpeople!”

“I—I am glad you told me all this, Monique,” Carolinemanaged, at last, in a voice that was unlike her normalvoice. “You have

every reason to feel grateful to the Comte de Marsac, andthat you do feel so very grateful is very much to your credit.”

Monique’s eyes flashed in surprise.

“To feel gratitude is not enough when so much has beendone!” she exclaimed. “There must be some return made!That is what I wish to do—to make some return!”

Caroline finished her coffee, and then left the kitchen,leaving Monique once more busying herself at the stove.Thibault slipped from his high-chair and made off into thegreat outside world, and Marie-Josette went on stuffing hercelluloid doll with crumbs of stale cake.

At lunch-time there was only Lady Pen and Caroline toenjoy the savoury omelette and the green salad with whichMonique served them, for all four of the others had gone offon some sort of expedition in the Comte’s car. Lady Pensaid it was very nice there being just the two of them, andsmiled at Caroline across the little table that was laid in thesmall card-room, and afterwards she rested in her roomwhile Caroline wandered alone in the tangled wildernessthat had once been an orchard, and where the gnarledboughs where loaded with fruit in spite of rank weeds

growing at the base of the trees.

Caroline tried not to think of anything as she walkedbeneath the trees—at least, she tried not to remember whatMonique had told her that morning. For when she did so thesharp sensation of dismay not merely persisted, but grewsteadily sharper, and more inclined actually to upset her.So she preferred, since it was next door to impossible tokeep her mind a blank, to dwell upon the mental picture ofArmand at the wheel of his sleek cream car, with Dianebeside him in a silk suit the colour of early-morning sunlight,her burnished black hair banded about her head like a cap,a huge pouch handbag on her lap which she grasped withher brilliantly tinted fingernails, while the other two sat in theback and were merely passengers.

It was easier thinking of Armand like that, eternally withDiane, or with some other woman equally as desirable, andas equally smart, perhaps later on, when he returned toParis.

For smart women and Armand surely went together?

About four o’clock Monique came into the orchard lookingfor Thibault.

“Sometimes he plays here,” she said, “and sometimes hehides from me in one of the trees.” She looked up amongstthe branches, and called loudly. “Thibault, Thibault! It is time

that you shall have a wash, for I have much to do later and Iwill not be free to attend you! Thibaut!”

But Thibault, if he was anywhere in the orchard, preferred toremain quiet amidst the leaves.

Caroline told Monique not to worry, and said she wouldlook for him, and she spent half an hour after that searchingeverywhere for the small boy with the honey-coloured hairwho was so frequently to be seen staggering along withJacqueline in his arms. But for once Thibault had found ahiding place in which he was safe from such things as faceflannels and combs that restored order to his tangled locks,and when Caroline finally reported to the kitchen she had toadmit failure. Monique was scraping new potatoes with theamazing speed and dexterity that indicated she couldperform the same task with as much efficiency even in hersleep, and she didn’t pause as she looked up enquiringly atCaroline. But behind the enquiry a little look of anxietyappeared.

She clicked her tongue impatiently.

“He is the bad one,” she declared, “and when he is found Iwill see to it that he goes straight to bed! He shall not defyme like this!”

But an hour later Thibault was still missing, and an hourafter that Monique was inclined to wring her hands.

“He never wanders far,” she said. “I have never known himto do this before, and he is such a small gargon. Always heis with Jacqueline, or Jacqueline is with him, and now thetwo of them are missing!” Her motherly eyes became filledwith anxiety. “There is so much to do here that I do not knowwhich way to turn, with Denise Gargouf, who normally helpsme with the vegetables, called to the bed of her sickgrandmother, and yet he must be found! Someone mustlook for him!”

“Don’t worry,” Caroline strove to reassure her. “I’ll go onlooking for him, and of course he can’t really be very faraway!”

But after another half-hour’s search even she began to thinkthat somehow or other he must have strayed, and becomelost in unfamiliar surroundings. The woods seemed verysilent at that hour of the day, with the sun slipping steadilywestwards, and although there was plenty of daylight to becounted on for quite a while yet, if Thibault was genuinelylost they might need every second of that daylight to findhim before the deep green gloom beneath the treesbecame the stygian gloom of night, unpricked by even agleam of starshine.

And having searched the garden and grounds of thechateau thoroughly, there remained only the woods in whichto search for him. Caroline was not really afraid of thesilence, and the spreading loneliness, for such a small boy,

since after all he was country born and country bred, butshe did have a few uneasy moments when she thought ofthe slimy green strip of water in the very heart of the woods,which Thibault had once described as “The big sea”. The“big sea” had seemed to hold a certain fascination for him,particularly as he had seen a boat moored to its edge, andalthough he did not know that the boat was rotten he hadexpressed a desire to be taken out in it. When it had beenexplained to him that the boat was not seaworthy he hadstill thought it would be wonderful to play at being a sailoron such a wide expanse of water, and as it was Caroline towhom he confided these nautical ambitions it was notsurprising, when she recalled them, that her own anxietyquickened.

There seemed nothing for it but that she must make herway to the lake. But before she made her way to the lakeshe must return to the house for a torch, in case nightclosed down while she was still in the woods. And hurryingback to the house she was immensely relieved to see a carcome to rest before the impressive entrance front.

It was Armand’s car, and he seemed to sense thatsomething was wrong as soon as he saw her emergingfrom one of the yew alleys.

She was hatless, and already tugged at by brambles, andher. relief at his sudden appearance showed in her face.

“Something is wrong?” he asked, and it was her own facehe searched, as if his instincts were warning him thatwhatever had happened had happened to her personally,and therefore had to be dealt with immediately. (Whichshould have filled her with secret satisfaction, if there hadbeen any opportunity to feel secret satisfaction just then.)

As it was, she explained quickly about Thibault, and whilehis expression didn’t altogether grow relieved, it lightened alittle.

From the car Diane called out a little peevishly, for she wascollecting together a lot of parcels, and preparing to stepout on to the drive:

“Please help me, Armand...! And if the child is missing it ishardly your business to go looking for him! Let Pierreconduct a search, or someone like that. And I don’tsuppose he’s really lost, anyway.”

But Armand ignored her, and even Christopher Markham,when he had slipped out of the car and joined the other twoon the drive, looked in a concerned way at Caroline.

“That little curly-headed boy who is always carrying a hugecat about?” he demanded. “And you say he’s vanished?How long has he been missing?”

Caroline explained afresh for his benefit, and he noddedthoughtfully and looked at the Comte.

“Then, in that case, we’d better start searching the woods,hadn’t we?” he suggested. “You take one end, and I’ll takethe other!”

“I—I’d like to come with you,” Caroline said, looking almostpleadingly at the Comte. “I’ve a sort of idea I know where hemight be found, and as a matter of fact I was just returningfor a torch, in case it got dark while I was still looking forhim.”

“Then, in that case, it’s just as well we returned when wedid,” the Comte returned, in a far sharper tone than any shehad yet known him to use to her, and his brow grew almostblack as he looked at her. “We can’t have you wanderingabout in the woods alone at night, and even at this hour ofthe day it was not a search

for you to undertake unaccompanied.”

“But I can come with you?” she asked.

She felt Christopher Markham’s eyes on her, while Armandseemed to hesitate.

“You’d better go with the Comte, Caroline,” he said, after amoment of complete silence. “He knows his own woodsbetter than I do, and you’re less likely to flounder into a bog,or something of the sort, if you’re with him.” But there wassuch a strong tinge of regret in his tones that she couldn’t

miss it.

The Comte went on frowning for half a second or so longer,and then he nodded his head almost curtly.

“Very well,” he said, as if he had a right to bestowpermission. “If you think you have some idea where thesmall pestilence can be found! And also if you have theright sort of shoes on,” looking at them doubtfully, “and willbe quick about fetching a coat. It turns cool when the sunsets, and it is not so very long since you had pneumonia.”

Caroline felt her heart leap queerly at his consideration,tersely expressed though it was, and she knew thatChristopher’s eyes developed a faintly surprisedexpression as he glanced at each of their faces in turn. Andthen he left them to fetch a pocket-torch for himself, andalso to enlist another searcher in the person of HelenMansfield, who had only just realised that something waswrong.

Caroline flew up to her room to remove her open-toedsandals and put on brogue shoes, and when she rejoinedArmand she was wearing a chunky white cardigan over herslim green linen dress. He was standing waiting for herwhere she had left him, and there was no sign of Diane,who had evidently departed into the house in high dudgeon.

Caroline didn’t realise it but, in spite of the anxiety she felt

for Thibault’s safety, for the first time for days there wassomething almost eager in her look as she lifted it to meetthe intent dark eyes of the Comte. And for the first time fordays he smiled at her in the old winning way.

“I will forgive that fellow countryman of yours for calling youCaroline,” he said, “because it is you and I who are tosearch together! Now, keep close to me, and be carefulwhere you put your feet, because it will soon be quite darkin the woods!”

CHAPTER XII

THERE was still enough light when they reached the shoreof the lake to see the sinister green expanse stretching infront of them with a kind of sluggish glow on it at that hour,caused by the reflected light of the sunset striking throughthe trees. In less than another quarter of an hour it would bean inky pool of blackness, and Caroline shuddered a littleas she looked at the reeds bending above the turgid waterlike lonely sentinals conducting an endless vigil. Then shelooked for the boat where she had seen it at last, andrealised immediately that it was not there. Armand, whenshe pointed the fact out to him, nodded.

He looked across the water at a tiny island in the middle ofit, and without much difficulty he made out the boat lyingupturned within a foot or so of the island. And then a faintcry came drifting to them—a thin, terrified, childish cry.

Armand’s lips tightened, and he frowned.

“You have the right sort of feminine intuition, my Carol!Unless I am making a very bad mistake the little one is onthe island, probably hiding there, or else hurt in some way.He is calling for help, and we mustn’t withhold it from him.We must do something at once!”

“But—but what?” she asked, her voice shaken with doubt.

The doubt strengthened when she saw him smile curiously,and start to strip off his coat.

“It won’t be the first time I have swum in that unpleasant stripof water,” he told her. “When I was a boy my father forbademe to use the boat that in those days was quite watertightbecause of my unhealthy interest in the island, and thehours I spent on it alone enacting a Robinson Crusoe rolethat appealed to me strongly at the time. So, without a boat,I used to strip myself naked and leave my clothes on thisfarther bank, and then dive into the water and reach theisland in record time. Those were great days!”

He was already untying his tie, and she caught at his arm to

prevent him.

“But you can’t—you can’t do a thing like that,” she cried, “atthis hour of the day! It will soon be completely dark, and inany

case the water is filthy and stagnant! It might drag youdown....

There might be deep mud, anything....”

“Sharks?” he enquired, softly, stooping to unlace his shoes.

“No, please...!” She was almost crying. “I am not joking...!We must get help some other way, but you mustn’t think ofswimming to the island! Armand, please...!”

“Ah!” he said, still more softly, straightening up and lookingat her in the strange, harsh, eerie light “That is the first timeyou have called me Armand, and the name slipped outquite naturally! Which means that you must think of mesometimes as Armand!”

Her eyes were appealing to him, and she was tooconscious of the unsuspected iron-hardness of his will, andthe importance of combating it somehow, to even botherabout subterfuge just then, and for a few moments therewas no pretence between them.

“Of course I think of you....” she said.

“Just as I think of you—all day and all night!” He caught herinto his arms, and she felt the infinite dearness of his lipsagainst her own, kissing her with tenderness and a touch ofpassion. Then he let her go, just as another thin cry reached

them from across the water. “Don’t move from where youare,” he instructed, “and if it gets really dark before I returnshine this torch,” thrusting one into her hand, “as often asyou dare without wasting the battery. There is a boat-houseon the island with a boat in it that I may be able to make useof as a means to get us back, but if not the other boat willhave to serve us somehow. Thibault obviously used it to gethim where he is—although quite possibly he drifted—andat least it didn’t sink with him. So it could bring us back!”

“But, Armand...!” she pleaded.

“Step away from the edge in order to avoid the splash,” hecautioned. He waited while she took an unwilling step awayfrom him, and then the splash followed immediately. Therewas a gurgling noise as the disturbed, brackish waterclosed round him, mouthing at him, sucking at him, causinggreat spreading ripples to reach right across the lake, andthen he struck out strongly.

Caroline stood straining her eyes on the edge of the waterand feeling as if she would have to cover them with herhand at any moment, for it was one thing for a boy withoutany clothing of any kind to attempt such a feat, but a manhampered by everything except his shoes, collar and jacketwas altogether different. She thought of all the patches ofpoisonous weed that might lie out there waiting to ensnarehim and catch at him, eventually drawing him down into afoulness that was too horrible to contemplate. She thought

of obstacles that might prove too much for him, pieces ofrotten tree-trunk floating just below the surface that mightcatch him a glancing blow on the head, and cause him tosink before anyone could do anything at all to save him, andsensations of utter panic took possession of her. Wishingwildly that she had come here alone—although if she hadcome here alone, how could she have helped Thibault?—she knew that Armand’s safety was the only thing in life thatreally and violently mattered to her, and the knowledgemerely intensified her fears for him. And even if he got tothe other side, it was too great a risk to return in a rottenboat!

She waited until the light was about to die, and thenswitched on the torch. The spreading ripples had ceasedand the lake was calm, and on the other side the boat—ora boat was coming leisurely towards her. The almostpainful leisureliness of its movements made her feel sick,and she endured further agonies until it touched the shore.Then she shook off her fears, and every other sensation,and went down to help Armand beach the boat, and also tomake certain that he had the child with him.

Thibault had endured so much terror that he no longer hadthe power to whimper even, and when Armand handed himover his eyes appeared to be glazed, and he could onlymake clutching movements with his small fingers. Armandsaid soberly:

“He was lying in a clump of scrub, but I don’t think he’s hurt—only half dead with fright! I don’t think he’ll be quite soadventurous in future, or not for some time, at any rate!You’d better wrap my jacket round him in order to keep himas warm as possible, and if you can also carry him that willbe much the best, for I am so wet that I could only add to hisdiscomfort.”

“You—you’re very wet?” she asked, not knowing quite whatshe said as she wrapped the coat round Thibault, and thenkept

him closely hugged to her in-her arms. Armand had takenthe torch from her and was shining it away from himself.

“Very wet, and very odorous,” he answered. “That patch ofwater must be the foulest in this corner of France! Now leadon, if you will, my little one, and I will keep the beam of thetorch directed straight ahead, so that you can see whereyou are going”

She did exactly as he requested, stepping carefully in orderto avoid catching her foot in a trailing bramble, or comingup against a stump of tree trunk that would cause her andthe child to end up lying in the middle of the path, andbehind her Armand encouraged her occasionally, and shethought that he sounded just a trifle jaded, or perhapsexhausted. And she realised that he wasn’t used toswimming in his clothes at the wrong end of the day, and on

top of the swim he had had to row the boat back, afterdragging it down to the water’s edge. And he had wastedso little time after returning from what must have been areasonably exhausting day already—a day devoted tosightseeing, most probably, since Helen Mansfield hadbeen a member of the party, and Helen was anindefatigable sightseer—and it was little wonder his voicesounded dragging, and he breathed a little heavily as heplodded along behind her.

When they reached the house at last Monique threatened tobecome almost hysterical with relief as soon as Thibaultwas handed over to her, but Armand silenced her a littlecurtly— which was probably the best thing he could dounder the circumstances—and told her that she owed thesafe return of her small son to Mademoiselle Darcy. It wasMademoiselle Darcy who had thought of the lake, andsaved Thibault a long night, at least, of exposure.

Then he excused himself hastily and vanished upstairs to abathroom, and it was not until he emerged from his ownroom, once more neat and correctly attired and smellingdistinctly more wholesome, and Caroline accidentally methim in the corridor, that she saw the cut over his righteyebrow. He had done nothing about it save dab someiodine on to it, and it looked dark and ugly, to say nothing ofhaving quite a large area of bruising around it.

Caroline took one look at the ugly cut, and then exclaimed

with horror.

“You are hurt!” she said. “Something must have hit youwhile you were swimming!”

He shook his head.

“It was a branch of a tree when I landed. I didn’t see it in thedark.”

He smiled at her rather oddly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry...!” Her voice sounded as if she wasactually upset. “You were wonderful...! I can’t think how youdived into that horrible water...!”

“I can’t think how you were clever enough to hit upon thelake, and the boat, as an explanation of Thibault’sabsence!”

She smiled rather wanly.

“I knew all about his secret aspirations to become a sailor,and that the water fascinated him.” She moved a littlenearer to him. “Have you really cleansed that cutthoroughly?” she asked anxiously. It’s almost bad enough tohave a stitch put into it! Are you sure we oughtn’t to get adoctor to have a look at it?”

“Quite sure.” He sounded amused at the idea, and there

was a definite suspicion of dryness in his voice as headded: “Why, would you like to put on a FlorenceNightingale act and assist him if he ordered me to bed for afew days, or went in for a little rough surgery? Would youhold my hand while he worked over me?”

She couldn’t help being convinced that there was mockeryin his voice as well, and she looked at him with a certainamount of perplexity in her dark violet eyes. His dark brownones studied her in an inscrutable fashion.

“I would assist him, of course, if it was necessary.”

“And you would hold my hand if it was necessary?”

Suddenly, looking at the injury above his right eyebrow, andthinking of him swimming through that evil water—andperhaps remembering all that she had heard of him thatday from Monique—her love for him rose so triumphantly tothe surface that her whole being felt as if it was beingdissolved in the uprush of her emotions. Her eyes ceasedto be perplexed and reflected only a kind of yearning, and atender anxiety, as she looked up at him, and she actuallyput out a hand impulsively and touched his sleeve.

“Armand, I------”

He covered the hand lightly, carelessly, with his own, andthen patted it gently.

“Armand—nothing!” he said. “It is too late to stand here inthe corridor telling me how much you admired my behaviourthis evening; and, besides, I badly need a drink! Let’s godownstairs and rejoin the others, and see what Moniquehas done with the dinner she cooked—and to-morrow, ifyou feel like it, you shall tell me how much you admire me!”

There was no doubt about the mockery in his voice thistime, and although it was quite gentle mockery itbewildered and confused her. She saw his white teeth ashe smiled, his eyes remain unsmiling. And then he stoodaside for her to proceed along the corridor ahead of him.

She did so with so much absurd disappointment rushing upover her that she several times all but stumbled as shewalked.

CHAPTER XIII

AND the following day she did not even see him to tell himanything.

When Monique served her breakfast coffee and rolls on theterrace, in the sunshine of another beautifully fine morning,that promised another very warm day ahead, she learnedthat Monsieur le Comte had left at an early hour withMademoiselle Montauban, whom he was driving to visitfriends or relatives, who resided a good many kilometresthe far side of Le Fontaine. They would be absent all day,

and it might even be quite late when they returned.

Caroline experienced her first sharp disappointment of theday when she received this news.

Mademoiselle Montauban... !

Oh, no...! she thought. Not after the way he had kissed her,Caroline, the night before! Not after he had said that hethought of her all the time...! It was true that having admittedas much he was curiously loath to talk to her again alonewhile the rest of that evening lasted, and she had gone tobed so full of apprehension and longing that she had hardlyslept at all. He had said that to-day she could tell him whatshe thought of him... ! Well, she would have to let him know—let him know that it didn’t really matter to her who or whathe was, because she loved him so much that nothing elsereally mattered at all! She could overlook everything he hadever done, and all the things he had not done that wouldhave made him so much more worthy to bear the title thatwas his, and to be the last of an illustrious line, if only hewould tell her once more that he loved her! If he wouldreassure her, and put her out of her agony of mind....

Robert or Armand, it didn’t matter now....The only thing thatmattered was that she loved Armand, whom she had firstknown as Robert, and somehow soon she must make himbelieve it, and that she wasn’t capable of change, whateverthe shock that might temporarily stun her. And if only he

would again ask her to marry him—to share his life withhim...!

It didn’t matter whether it was at the top of a tall building, infashionable Paris, or unfashionable Paris.... loving as shedid she couldn’t just go on alone, without the constantpresence of the loved one.! Every part of her ached for theconstant society of Armand, and she had looked forward somuch to to-day because, if only she could find the courage,she would let him know all that he meant to her; and havingsaid that he thought of her all the time he wouldn’t snub her—he wouldn’t do anything to make her ashamed ofconfessing so much.

At least she was certain of that....

For even if he had ceased to be as much in love with her ashe had once imagined that he was, he was innatelychivalrous. He was rather exquisitely chivalrous.

But Monique had altered everything with her few words.Monsieur le Comte had gone off for the day withMademoiselle Montauban....

Christopher Markham came down and joined her at thebreakfast table. He was wearing an open-necked tennisshirt, prepared for another hot day, and he looked a littlebored.

“This is too much like the weather I’m used to,” he

remarked, as he helped himself liberally to Monique’sstrawberry preserve. “In my part of the world we expect it,but on leave I like to do things and go places without beingreminded that my leave must end one day!”

“How much longer have you got?” Caroline asked, withoutreally caring.

“Another couple of months.” He smiled across the table ather.

“Come out with me to-day and let’s have lunch somewhere,and if our host chooses to absent himself all day whyshouldn’t we?”

“I don’t seem to remember that our host invited any of us,”Caroline couldn’t resist answering—being only too wellaware that he hadn’t invited her, and the other four hadmore or less inflicted themselves upon him. “So I supposehe can go out for the day if he wishes.”

“With Mademoiselle Diane?” He sent her a flickeringglance. “Would you say she attracts him seriously, or is it hewho attracts her?”

“I—I wouldn’t know, would I?” Caroline replied, and thenhastily enquired whether he would like some more coffee.

“Thanks.” He lighted a cigarette, and watched the smokedrift away dreamily in the direction of the moat. “You realise

that my aunt rather led Helen to believe that it would bepossible to put salt on Armand de Marsac’s tail? But shedoesn’t seem to have been very successful, does she?” Heglanced up at the peaceful front of the chateau. “Fancyowning a place like this and not wanting to settle downhere! Although I suppose, as he said, it would be prettyexpensive and unwieldy to run. But you’d think he’d comehere more often than he does. Monique told me that Marthesometimes doesn’t see him for months at a time, and it’snever more than a few days he spends here. This is hislongest stay for ages, apparently, and he’s beginning to talkabout his new autumn play— rehearsals and so forth—sothat means we shall have to be pushing on.”

Caroline felt almost startled.

“How—how soon?”

“Oh, in a day or so.” He gazed at her almost speculatively. “Idon’t know whether Aunt Pen has said anything to you, butshe’s going to ask you to return to Paris with us when weleave, and stay as her guest for a while. She’s taken anenormous fancy to you,” smiling, “and I can’t say I’msurprised.”

“You mean—she’s going to ask me to stay with her inParis?” Caroline asked, a little jerkily.

“That’s it.” He tried to press her to have a cigarette,

although she had already refused. “If you don’t know Parisyou’ll probably enjoy it, and if you do accept Aunt Pen’sinvitation—and I don’t mind admitting I’m banking on youdoing just that!—you will let me show you all there is to beseen, won’t you?” He bent towards her a little eagerly. “AuntPen says you’re exactly like your grandmother, and if shewas anything like you, Caroline, she must have been abeauty... ! Not the sort of beauty one acknowledges,perhaps, at first, but the kind that grows on one. The kind itwould be next door to impossible ever to forget altogether!So you will return with us to Paris, won’t you?”

“I—I-----“ Caroline was beginning; and he was so

nice, and natural, and English—not the sort she could everfall in love with for a single instant, but certainly not the kindof man she would ever want to hurt, or remind that until hehad been certain of the attitude of MademoiselleMontauban he had been very ready indeed to fall a victim toher charms—that she hardly knew how to respond to such apiece of determined flattery. For her grandmother had beenan acknowledged beauty, and she knew she would neverbe that. Armand had discovered that she had something—something that had appealed to him while they were alonetogether—but apparently it wasn’t enough to keep him inthrall.

Which shouldn’t really surprise her now that she had seenDiane Montauban.

But she felt surprised and disturbed by this news that withina few days they were all likely to be scattered. And whetheror not she should accept Lady Pen’s invitation she couldn’tmake up her mind just then. For only that morning she hadbeen thinking of spending the rest of her life with Armand...!

Helen Mansfield joined them after breakfast—she brokeher fast on fruit juice only, in order to preserve a figure thathad more than once threatened to get out of hand—andCaroline was glad that Christopher said nothing more

about going off together for the day. Lady Pen sat andsunned herself on the terrace, rested in the afternoon in herroom as she always did, and in the evening spoke toCaroline about accompanying them to Paris.

“I do want you to agree, my dear,” she said. I don’t want youto return to that lonely life of yours in London until you lookmuch fitter than you do now—you strike me as being rathernaturally fragile, and therefore someone ought to take careof you—and you can’t very well stay on here at the chateauafter we have all gone. It would be too lonely for you, for onething, and apparently Marthe Giraud is likely to be inhospital for some time. So why not say at once that you’llcome with us to Paris, and afterwards—who knows?—Imight persuade you to come and stay with me in England,or Christopher might persuade you to return with him toAfrica... “

“Oh, no!” Caroline said, so sharply that the old lady lookedat her quizzically.

“Why not? Don’t you feel in the very slightest degreeattracted?” Caroline felt certain that Lady Pen knew too wellwho attracted her much more than in a “slight degree”, andpossibly that was one reason why she was so eager to gether to join up with them. Lady Pen was shrewd, had seenmore than one young woman lose her heart to a man whodidn’t want it, and having known her grandmother she verylikely felt a certain responsibility where she was concerned.

But the very thought of accompanying Christopher to Africamade her want to run away back to her own little Londonroom, for there, at least, she would have her dreams, andher memories. Christopher...! After she had knownArmand’s kisses...! “Don’t look so upset, my dear child,”Lady Pen said, gently, touching her. “I know how you feelabout Armand —it was shining out of your eyes when wearrived here, although I believe the arrival of MissMontauban just ahead of us gave you something in thenature of a shock! But men like Armand are like that, youknow—much loved by their godmothers, and femalerelations, but not really very much use to other women.” Shespoke regretfully, as if she had been trying for some time toaccustom herself to this aspect of Armand. “I’ll admit I’vealways had hopes that he might change. I thought thatperhaps when he met someone who didn’t actively chasehim he might become interested. I’m quite prepared tobelieve you didn’t chase him, but that chic countrywoman ofhis is doing enough chasing for both of you.... And heseems to be rather under her influence, at least. Otherwise,why go off all day with her?”

Why, indeed. . . ? Caroline had asked herself that questionrepeatedly since morning. And the only answer she couldsupply herself with was that both were French —whichmeant that they would have no language problems, andtherefore no incoherent moments—and Diane’s family wasalmost as old as that of the

Comte. She was as gay and vivacious as he was, had ledhis kind of life for years, and whether or not he was in lovewith her, she was almost certainly in love with him!

Sitting on the terrace with the evening sunshine fallinggoldenly all about her, the moat encompassing the chateaulike a glistening girdle touched with fire, Caroline recalledthe kiss they had exchanged in the tower room—the kissshe had witnessed— and she wondered why she hadawakened that morning with the determination actually toplead with Armand if it was necessary.

She began to think she must have been slightly mad.

She was glad when Lady Pen suggested a stroll in thegrounds before dinner, and they lingered for a long time ina small, tucked-away herb garden where Lady Pen saidshe had once assisted the Comte’s mother to pick and dryenough lavender for lavender sachets for a bazaar that wasto raise funds for a local family in distress.

“It was she who imported practically every one of the herbsthat are growing here now,” Lady Pen said, as she pluckeda leaf of bergamot. “She was a keen horticulturist, and veryfull of good works.” She sighed. “I’m afraid she would be alittle disappointed in Armand.”

Caroline stood inhaling the combined fragrance of manyconflicting scents around her, and her thoughts went again

to the tower room, and this time to the portrait above thefireplace.

“But Armand is—like his father?” she suggested, a littlediffidently.

Lady Pen looked as if she was giving the matter thought.

“In some ways,” she admitted. “Only in some ways Armandis more human—his potentialities are greater! Only I’mafraid they’re going to be wasted,” she added, with a sigh.“He’ll go down to history as a successful French dramatist,and nothing more.”

“Perhaps there is nothing more he wishes from life to godown to history as,” Caroline suggested.

“I wonder?” Lady Pen said.

And then they both heard Monique exerting all her strengthon the enormous beaten silver gong in the hall.

The evening seemed years long to Carol, who playedchess with Lady Pen on the terrace in a flood of wonderful,silvery moonlight that turned the chateau into a positivedream of beauty brooding on its past, and at ten o’clockthey all went to bed.

“I shall be glad when we get to Paris,” Christopher hadsaid, sounding bored, and Caroline thought he had looked

at her reproachfully. “In Paris we may find something to do.”

In Paris she wouldn’t be allowed to play chess was what hiseyes had told her. He would see to it that the manydistractions the French capital offered should claim at leastsome of her attention, and as the one to show them to her alittle of her attention would also, perforce, be concentratedon himself.

Caroline, however, forgot Christopher, forgot the invitationthat she ought to be grateful for—as she realised— forgoteverything, as she lay in her bed and listened for the first,faint sound of Armand’s returning car. Monique had saidthey might be late, but when Caroline looked at her watch,after switching on her bedside light, it was very nearly oneo’clock.

One o’clock...! And when she looked at her watch againafter tossing and turning as if the bed was actively torturingher, it was two o’clock. And the last time she switched onthe bedside light before falling into an uneasy sleep it wasa quarter to three.

And no sound of any returning car...!

The night seemed peculiarly still, and the moon wasslipping behind some trees, and the world beyond herwindows was given up to darkness and a soft, unusualwarmth.

When she awakened in the morning it was to find Moniquestanding beside her bed with a tray of tea.

“Monsieur le Comte and Mademoiselle Montauban gotback all right last night?” she asked, as she struggled uponto her pillows.

“Non, Mademoiselle, they did not return,” Moniqueanswered, but she was busying herself with setting out theflowered china as she did so, and it seemed to Carolinethat she deliberately avoided meeting her eyes.“Mademoiselle will take sugar and cream, as usual?” sheasked, lifting the cream-jug, and preparing to manipulatethe sugar-tongs.

“Thank you, Monique.” Caroline was feeling utterly wearyafter her all-too-short night, but she was also experiencingthe sharp knife-like thrust of anxiety. “You don’t think—youdon’t

think the car broke down, or something like that?”

Monique went to the window and pulled back the curtains,letting in a flood of bright sunlight. But it was one of thosemornings when there were clouds in the sky, and thebrilliance of the day might not last long.

“If anything of the sort occurred, mademoiselle, we shall behearing,” she said. “We are not on the telephone, butsomeone would bring a message from the village. But I do

not somehow feel that there has been any very seriousaccident”, and there was something almost pitying in herlook—unless it was purely Caroline’s imagination— as shewent out and closed the door quietly.

At breakfast—in the small card-room this morning,because a cool wind was blowing—Christopher lookedamused as he took the lid off the preserve jar.

“In England,” he said, “the host would come sneaking backafter this sort of thing with a slightly shamefaced look on hisface, but I’ll bet Armand won’t look in the least ashamed.”He looked across at Caroline as if he wondered whatexactly she was thinking, and how— which was moreimportant—she was feeling, since she looked a little paleand withdrawn. But Caroline said nothing, and revealednothing by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. “He’s a bit ofa boy is our Armand,” he remarked. “But I should havethought he would have waited until he got back to Paris forthis sort of indiscreetness.”

Caroline still said nothing, and she was glad when HelenMansfield joined them, and she made no mention of theComte, only complained that the bath water had beenmerely tepid.

Just before lunch Armand and Diane returned, and Dianelooked almost complacent. Armand had a queer, tight-lipped expression that was unusual with him, and he had

little or nothing to say to anyone, save that the car hadbroken down while they were on their way home the nightbefore, and they had been forced to put up at an hotel.Helen Mansfield’s eyebrows ascended quite noticeablywhen this admission was made, and when the briefinformation was added that the car had taken quite a longtime to repair she looked as much as to say she was notsurprised. And then Diane yawned and looked at everyonewith a kind of studied disdain, and announced that she

was going to her room. Armand refused lunch andvanished, and the next time Caroline saw him was whenshe was once again inhaling the scents of his mother’s littleherb garden about an hour after tea, and he came stridingquickly along the paths, as if he had seen her and followedher.

They looked at one another with blank, guardedexpressions. Then she stooped and picked a sprig ofrosemary and played with it.

“I saw you from my window,” he confessed, at last. “And Icame after you because I have something to say to you.”

One of her feathery brown eyebrows went up, but herexpression remained almost chillingly aloof.

“I can’t imagine what you can have to say to me!”

“No?” He moved slowly nearer to her along the path, and

she saw that his brown eyes were watching her all the time,an intent, no longer guarded, openly searching expressionin them that was at variance with the wariness of his tightly-set lips. He was beautifully shaved and beautifully freshafter a change of clothes and possibly a leisurely bath, andthe faint scent of his shaving-cream reached her on thewind, as well as the vaguely exciting scent of his mixedVirginian and Turkish cigarettes. As he stood beside herhe took out his expensive gold cigarette-case on which shenow knew a crest was engraved, and slowly selected acigarette, tapping it on the lid of the case as he continuedto watch her. “Two nights ago you had something to say tome.” he reminded her.

“Ah, but that was—two nights ago!”

For an instant she was sure that a quality of surpriseentered his look, and then she heard him draw in his breathrather quickly. He said in English, with a very noticeableaccent:

“I—see! Or, rather, I begin to see, but it is not that I amclever enough to have understood immediately! That is tosay I am perhaps a little too simple to have understood atonce—too trusting!”

Her whole body was beginning to tremble a little at hisnearness, and she was fighting a desire to forgeteverything but the fact that he was close enough for her to

put out a hand and touch him if she couldn’t resist theimpulse. She wanted to forget that there had been twointervening nights since last they talked to one another, andknowing that she mustn’t forget she actually turned a littlewhite with conflicting emotions.

“It is Diane you should have followed out here into thegarden,” she said, with a brittle, shrew-like note in hervoice. “And if she isn’t sufficiently rested to emerge fromher room and talk to you you should wait, because I don’texpect she would approve of your watching me from yourwindow!”

“I—see!” he said again, and then remained absolutely stilland silent for several long, drawn-out seconds that seemedto her to be opening up an enormous gulf between themwhich neither of them would ever be able to cross. It wasjust as if his whole body was stilled, in those seconds, andsomething that had been alive and active when he left thehouse had died while he stood there within a bare foot ofher. And venturing to lift her eyes at last and look at himunder her eyelashes she recognised that for the secondtime since they had known one another his answering gazewas filled with dislike. “Come and sit down,” he invited,turning to a neglected garden seat behind them. “Comeand sit down, Mademoiselle Caroline Darcy, and I will tellyou something that you can laugh your head off aboutafterwards, because it will no doubt fill you withamusement!”

Caroline automatically sat down beside him, but she felt alittle disturbed because his voice was so cold and smooth.

“I have been very unhappy since I left here, because itmeant that I had to be away from you, and there was somuch that I wanted to say to you—so much that I wantedyou to know!” One corner of his mouth went downmockingly, and he looked at her with mockery in his eyes.“Being naturally rather stupid I had the feeling that youwould listen this time, but I had promised Diane to drive herto some friends who live in some inaccessible spot which Idid not know was inaccessible when she asked me to takeher to them, and I thought that it would be well to get thisvisit over before I talked to you. I am, as I said, very stupid,and I thought that perhaps you would think it strange if I wentoff and left you after—well, we had perhaps made someplans for the future! So I insisted on starting off early inorder to be back in good time for dinner that night, but as Ihave said I did not know that these friends of Diane’s couldnot be come upon with very much ease, and twice we lostthe way, and a third time we found ourselves back on ouroriginal road. Then we ran out of petrol, and I had to walk toa garage, and by that time it was evening, and we had tohave a meal—at least I could not starve Diane, howeverangry I might feel with her! And then, when I came to startup the car again, it would not start, and once more I had towalk to a garage to find a mechanic, and the mechanicdiagnosed such serious trouble that there was nothing for it

but to put up at the hotel for the night! And the car wasn’tready until after breakfast this morning, and that is how ithappened that we were not back sooner! But I do not, ofcourse, expect you to believe me!”

Caroline sat very still on the seat, and something inside herwanted to weep over him. Oh, Armand, Armand...! shethought. So absurd, and so chivalrous, and so essentiallykind... ! He couldn’t allow Diane to starve...! He wouldn’tallow anyone to starve!

“Well?” he asked coldly, as she sat struggling with heremotions. “Do you feel like having a really good laugh? Oris it that you don’t believe me?”

“No; of course not...! I—I do believe you, and there isnothing to laugh at....”

“You don’t think that, being addicted to writing plays, I havean inventive capacity which might do better than producesuch a story as that? For, although you say you believe me,you almost certainly don’t, and for my part I no longer carewhether or not you believe any single thing I tell you!” Asshe turned a startled face to him he ground out his cigarettebeneath the heel of his shoe, and then lighted another witha ferocity that was completely unlike him. “Women...!” heexclaimed. “I had sense when I knew their value, and knewalways how to deal with them! And then I met you, and itseemed that I had discovered something rare and perfect,

that would make my life a joy to be lived, and I wanted onlyto place my heart at your feet for you to step on it, but youspurned me in less than a fortnight because I had beenafraid to tell you the truth about myself!” He laughed harshly,not looking at her. “And even then I still went on hoping—and hoping...! I didn’t want to lose the perfect thing I’dfound...!”

“Oh, Armand!” she exclaimed, in a choked voice.

He glanced at her for a moment, and then away. Then hestood up.

“I have told you the truth,” he said, speaking so rapidly that itwas just as if the words were bursting from him, “and it maybe some satisfaction to you to know that Armand deMarsac fell for you like any callow youth without anyexperience whatsoever of life, and in this instance it is I whohave been taken in! It is you who can laugh, because Imade a mistake, and although you may be sweet, andlovely, and desirable, you would no more be capable oftrusting a man like myself than— than you are capable offlying like that bird up there in the sky!” watching it as itwinged its way across a clear patch of blue.

Caroline placed a hand on his arm. She was trembling withthe urgent need to make him understand.

“But, Armand, I do—I will trust you! It was just that, at first

there was the shock of finding you were someone else, andthen Diane—Diane Montauban seemed such a closefriend!”

He shook his sleek dark head at her, his brown eyespositively glinting with mockery.

“Men of my type do not have women friends—you shouldknow that, Cherie. The platonic in life would be the last thingto interest me, as you must be aware!”

I’m aware of nothing of the kind,” and her voice soundedalmost angry, because he was hurting her so much. “I don’teven know very much about the life you lived until I—until Imet you! And it doesn’t matter about the life you lived,” hereyes hanging upon his with open appeal, “before I met you,because— because.... ”

“Yes?” he insisted, with a smoothness and waiting qualitythat chilled her.

“Because I love you,” she almost whispered. “Because Iwant to be with you always!”

“Even under the circumstances you suggested might suitme very nicely on the night Diane arrived?” he enquiredquietly. “I think, if you’ll remember, there was some idea onyour part that I could set you up in a separateestablishment, and when the day came along that I foundsomeone who could safely be asked to share my name the

association could continue without any interruption,because that is the way we do things over here in

France! Do you remember that you put all those ideas intomy head, even if they were not there already?” He couldalmost feel her shrink.

“Is your love strong enough to live with me under thoseconditions?” he asked. “Is it, ma petite?” And then as shelooked at him with agonised eyes, as if the struggle wasactually taking place in her mind and heart, he burst out witha kind of flamelike anger: “There you are, you see...! Youthink so little of me that you imagine I am capable of puttingforward such a suggestion to you—of all women in theworld!” He ran the fingers of both hands almost despairinglythrough his thick dark hair, and then sank down dejectedlyon the blistered and peeling garden

seat. “No; for us there would be no happiness------------In my

life there is so much that you would never approve, andcertainly that you would never understand! My work— thetime I have to devote to it—the people connected with it!Very soon now we shall be putting my new play intorehearsal, and I should be away at all sorts of odd hours....You would feel mistrustful if I took my leading lady out tolunch, and if I took her out to dinner that would be the end!You would see mistresses at every turning, and past lovesat every corner.... There would be no harmony, and no

peace, and in the end nothing but the ruin of our own deadlove between us! Therefore it is best that there shall be nodead love, and that we shall part now while it is still only athing newly born!” His face twisted, and still he avoidedlooking directly at her. “That is sensible, is it not, cherief”

Caroline felt as if she had turned cold right down to the veryroots of her being, and on the only important occasion inher life when she wanted to defend herself she could saynothing. On the only occasion in her life when she wasprepared to plead for something she couldn’t find thewords.

“You agree with me that it is sensible?” he insisted.

“From your point of view, or—my own?” she asked, whenshe could find a voice.

“From the point of view of us both...! I have my work to thinkof. Without my work I should soon be reduced to theunfortunate condition of Robert de Bergerac,” with adryness that brought the colour stealing up over her throatand face, although her face she kept averted from him.“And although it is true I have the

bookshop in the Rue de Rivoli, that, too, has to be kept aneye on occasionally, and with awkwardness in one’s homelife none of these things would be simple. In fact, nothingwould be simple!” He spoke with sudden decisiveness, as

she stood straight and slim in front of him, and stareddeliberately away across the herb garden. “You wouldprobably find life quite unbearable, and therefore it is betterthat you should go home to a life you know—although not tothe room in which you were taken ill!” as if he was suddenlybrought up short by that recollection.

She swallowed twice before she reassured him on thispoint, almost incapable of believing that because of a fewmisunderstandings which might occur at first—until theyknew one another better than they did at the present

time!------he was prepared to wipe her right out of his

existence, like someone cleaning a slate before starting touse it again. Because of his career, and his bookshop,and.... ?

She bit her lip hard to steady it, and then told him:

“Lady Penelope has asked me to stay with her for a time!She wanted me to return with her to Paris, and then gohome with her to England. I think it is because she— sheknew my grandmother.”

“Then that is excellent!” he declared, as if he wasimmeasurably relieved. “Lady Penelope is a woman forwhom I have a great admiration, and she will be good toyou. She may even ask you to live with her as a kind ofcompanion.”

She was silent, and he stood up and they started to leavethe herb garden. She walked a little ahead of him, and shehardly saw the flagged path, and the sudden twists andturns it made.

“You would find it pleasant to live with Lady Penelope as acompanion?” he asked conversationally.

“I—I don’t know. I—yes; I’m sure I should!”

“She is very easy to get on with, and would give you a lot ofadvice when you required it.” There was silence forperhaps half a minute as they turned into the shrubberies,and then he went on in the same conversational tone:“While you are in Paris we must all get together and havedinner one evening! And you must permit Markham to showyou the sights of our capital— the reasonably respectableones that is!”

She said nothing, and once they reached the house sheflew up

to her room and locked the door as soon as she entered it.Then, as she had done once before, she sat down on thefoot of her bed and clutched at one of the bedposts. But thistime no tears would come, and her hands were cold as iceas they gripped the garland-wreathed post—cold assomething inside her that felt as if it was suffering fromshock.

CHAPTER XIV

Ten days later Caroline emerged with Lady Pen from asmart little shop on the Rue de la Paix, and Caroline wasthe possessor of yet another example of Lady Pensgenerosity. This time it was a chiffon stole in a delightfulshade of flamingo pink which Lady Pen said would brightenup the chic little black dinner dress she had bought her onlythe day before, and Caroline hardly knew how to thank her.She was almost wordless as they stood on the pavement inthe morning sunshine, while Paris shop-gazers pressedclose to the windows behind them.

“You are too good,” Caroline managed, at last. “Honestly, Idon’t know what to say!”

Lady Pen’s eyes twinkled at her from under the brim of ahighly unsuitable hat which had certainly not started life inthe French capital.

“My dear, don’t you know I’m enjoying myself?” shedemanded. “It gives me pleasure to give you things! Anddon’t worry about currency, because Christopher derivessome sort of an income from a French export business— arelative of his mother’s side, who left him a share in theprofits—and he can provide us with all we need. And now,where are you meeting him for lunch?”

“I ------ ” Caroline was beginning, when Christopher

“I ------ ” Caroline was beginning, when Christopher

himself alighted from one of the gleaming French taxis, andstood bowing and smiling in front of them. He looked verymuch like the Englishman abroad, in a suit of Savile Rowcut, and such immaculate linen that it could hardly havebeen more immaculate; and in spite of his absurd little bowhe made Caroline think of such far-away places asPiccadilly and the Green Park.

“Your pardon, ladies—or should I say mesdemoiselles,since neither of you has yet acquired a husband?—isn’t thiswhere I

pick up my cargo?”

“If you mean, isn’t this where I surrender Caroline to you, itis,” Lady Pen answered. And when they both tried topersuade her to have lunch with them she dug in her heelsand declined. “I get tired after a lot of shopping and sight-seeing, and I much prefer to have lunch peacefully at thehotel, and enjoy a nap immediately afterwards,” sheexplained. But Caroline was certain that it was becauseshe wanted them to be alone, and because she hadalready started seriously to hope... And only Caroline knewhow forlorn was her hope!

But that didn’t prevent her from enjoying her lunch withChristopher, and from thoroughly enjoying seeing Paris inhis company. It was going to take her a long time to get

used to the beauties of Paris, and all that Paris had to offerto anyone as completely inexperienced as herself, andChristopher was frequently amused by the states ofecstatic admiration into which she worked herself. He didn’tknow that she was remembering all that Armand had toldher about the great triumphal arch of Paris— the Arc deTriomphe—that was the largest triumphal arch in existence,and deciding that he hadn’t exaggerated at all when he haddescribed its impressiveness. And that the Place de laConcorde was rightly a place in which to begin one’speregrination of the city, not only because it wasassociated with one of the most tragic periods of Frenchhistory, but because of its dignity, with the aristocratic Hotelde Crillon, and the Automobile Club of France, on theopposite side of the Ministry of Marine, and the newAmerican Embassy.

Then, other causes of admiration were the Rond-Point desChamps-Elysees, where six roads meet, and fountains andflowers catch the eye; the Avenue de Champs-Elyees, thatexuded a positive aroma of concentrated wealth— or suchwas her impression—and the jewellery and perfumeryshops in the Rue de la Paix and the Place Vendome. Thelatter had to be seen to be believed, and once having seenthem it was like turning one’s back on a spectacle to comeaway without entering them. And, of

course all the boulevards fascinated her, and the Bois deBoulogne was something entirely new in her experience,

and not even Hyde Park, she had to admit, offered such anumber of expensive restaurants together with facilities forriding and sport and fashionable display, all set downamidst natural unspoilt woodland.

She simply loved walking in the Bois, and Christopherhumoured her, and in addition he took her to art galleriesand famous collections such as the Louvre, and churchessuch as Notre-Dame and the Madeleine. She saw theSeine slipping beneath its bridges, the groves of chestnutsin the Tuileries Gardens—and, incidentally, the Rue deRivoli, which lies between the Seine and the TuileriesGardens—the flower-market held in the grey shadows ofthe Madeleine, and the Place de la Concorde floodlightedat night.

On the day that Lady Penelope bought her the flamingopink stole Christopher took her to lunch at a little open-airrestaurant they hadn’t visited before, and told her that hewas taking her to rather a special place for dinner thatnight. You could see Notre-Dame from the windows, andthe lights of Paris reflected in the Seine. It would be anexperience she wouldn’t forget.

Caroline protested that it wasn’t fair to leave LadyPenelope so much alone, but her nephew assured her thathis aunt really wouldn’t mind in the least, because havingbeen relieved of a certain amount of responsibility for HelenMansfield—who had crossed to England to stay with an old

school friend—she was now feeling like relaxing. And thatafternoon Caroline spent trying the effect of the pink stoleover the little black dress which made the most of her ratherheartbreakingly delicate colouring, in her luxurious hotelbedroom; and afterwards she tried out new hair styles tosee whether there was one that would make her lookslightly more sophisticated, but in the end she stuck to hersilk page-boy, that was like a swinging bright brown capereaching almost to her shoulders.

When she and Christopher set off for the evening Lady Penwatched from her window as they entered a taxi. It was notyet dark, and the Paris sky was aflame with colour, anddown below on the pavement Caroline looked slender andextremely young, and her escort obviously proud of her.Lady Pen sighed, because Paris nights were meant forlovers, and those two below her might never becomelovers. Not even with the golden crescent of a young moonabout to enter the sky, a whispering wind stirring the treesand carrying the perfumes of the flower-market, and thecool scents of the river, along with it, was there any certaintythat they would become lovers. The man was only toowilling, but the girl....

The girl felt excited as she stepped into the taxi. There weresequins attached to her stole, and they winked like firefliesin the dusk, and her silver-gilt sandals winked up at heralso. She was wearing some new, exciting Frenchperfume, which she hadn’t really felt able to afford, but

which she couldn’t resist, and she wondered whenChristopher wrinkled his nose slightly and smiled at herwhether he was drawing in whiffs of it.

She looked out of the windows at the glimpses of the river,and the darkling sky, and all at once her mood ceased tobe quite so buoyant. Somewhere in Paris Armand deMarsac was possibly also preparing for an evening’sentertainment, or just setting out for one as they were— onlyhe would be driving his own car, not being driven in a taxi—and somewhere in Paris Diane Montauban was probablygetting ready to meet him. Diane, she understood, livedalone—or, rather, she lived alone with a maid —in aluxurious modern flat and it would be the simplest thing inthe world for her to entertain Armand to dinner in that flat.Quite likely that was exactly what would happen to-night.

Caroline felt as if something tight and painful closed overher heart. It was one thing to say good-bye to a man —to lethim say good-bye casually, as if it was unimportant whetherthey met again or not—but it was quite another to know thatthey might never meet again. And although he had saidthey must all get together for dinner, or something, Armandhad suggested nothing before they said good-bye to thechateau. He had made no further reference to any sort of ameeting, and had dropped them off at their hotel when theyarrived in Paris— Christopher bearing the burden of theluggage in his car— with nothing more than a casual waveof the hand and one of his charming smiles.

Diane had remained beside him at the wheel and hadsmiled farewell also, but without anything in the nature ofcharm clinging to her smile.

And now, all at once, to-night, Caroline felt that it would beunbearable if she never saw Armand again. For days shehad been trying to shut him out of her mind and thoughts,concentrating on sightseeing instead. But sightseeing wasan empty thing, and Paris suddenly struck her as an empty,grey and miserable city if she was never to see Armandagain.

Her fingers clutched at the seat of the taxi, the knucklesshowing white; and she stared so determinedly away fromhim and out of the taxi window that Christopher knewsomething was wrong.

“Forget him,” he advised, softly.

She looked round at him, almost startled. It had neveroccurred to her that he even suspected how she felt aboutArmand. But, judging by the wry twist to his lips, he not onlysuspected, but understood perfectly the state of her mindjust then. She felt the colour rise in a quick flood to hercheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly and apologetically. She knewthat she owed him an apology, because he was being sokind and attentive to her, and he had promised her an

extremely pleasant evening, and it was entirely wrong thatshe should shut him out from her thoughts even for amoment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sheprevaricated, “but I’m looking forward to seeing this excitingrestaurant you’re taking me to.”

“That’s the girl! “ he exclaimed, and squeezed her fingers.“And, remember—there are always lots more fish in thesea that

are every bit as good as the one you set your heart oncatching!”

But, whether or not he was right about that, she knew thathe was right about one thing—she had to forget Armand!Armand belonged to a curious, stolen interlude in her life,and that was all he ever would belong to.

The evening passed a little feverishly, or so it seemed toher, because the excitement she whipped up to cope with itwas definitely a little feverish. Christopher made her drinkchampagne, and she wasn’t in the least accustomed tochampagne, and one glass made her view life a littledifferently. It acquired a faintly rosy hue in spite of theknowledge, which remained with her all the time, that lifewould never be rosy again, and she would never again siton the bank of a stream with a man she loved and a picnicbasket, and feel how near to a disaster it would have beenif she had never been born at all. Now it would simplify

things a great deal if she had never been born at all, forhow and in what manner she was going to employ herfuture she couldn’t think just then, but she did know thatChristopher was kind—she kept on telling herself that hewas very kind, and he was Lady Pen’s nephew, and at allcosts she must show appreciation when he was devotingso much of his time to her, and spending quite a lot ofmoney on her.

The restaurant was positively sumptuous, the food wasalmost too perfectly prepared and served—it suggestedthat a lot of people in Paris thought of nothing else but foodand the various means by which it could be disguised assomething quite out of this world—and the view of floodlit,and neon-lit, Paris, with a sensuously gleaming river,disappearing beneath its various arches, afforded by awindow that overlooked it all, and a table close to thewindow, something to remember when she got back to herlittle London room.

They had reached the coffee and liqueur stage of the mealwhen Armand and the beautiful redhead entered. Carolinehad refused a liqueur, but Christopher insisted that sheaccept a simple creme de menthe, and its brilliant greencolouring was reminding her of the green chartreuseArmand had once bought for her when she had lunch withhim, when she looked up to see him looking across theroom at her. He was wearing a white tie and tails, whichsuggested that after dinner he was going on to an even

smarter function, and his dark, disturbing good looks hadnever been more painfully emphasised. Caroline felt herheart give a wild, tremendous leap, and then its rate ofpumping the blood through her veins resembled thefeverish hurry of a mill race. She could hardly breathe for amoment, so great was the confusion beneath the filmymaterial of the black dress, and she was only vaguelyaware of the woman in the golden, sheathlike dress, andthe magnificent Titian hair, leaning familiarly on his arm asthey stood waiting to be conducted to their table. And thewoman’s eyebrows rose a fraction as Armand bowed— hedidn’t bother to come across to their table—and she heardChristopher whistle slightly beneath his breath, andexclaim:

“What—another one...! What’s happened to MademoiselleMontauban? No wonder Monsieur le Comte doesn’t spendmuch time in the country...!” And then he looked across thetable quickly at Caroline, as if recollecting too late whom hewas with, and he suggested gently: “If you’d like to go now,we will! I’ll take you on somewhere else, if you like—somewhere where we can dance.... ”

Caroline had no clear idea how the remainder of thatevening passed, but she did know that they did go somesomewhere else and dance, and the floor was packed, andafter a time her feet became so badly trodden on they hurther, and the subdued lighting effects were rather like anightmare, because she didn’t feel like subdued lighting

effects, and she didn’t seem to have any conversation,because all conversation had dried up inside her. Shemade efforts, valiant efforts, but Christopher sensed theywere efforts, and at last he took her back to the hotel—noteven dismissing the taxi half-way, as he had intended to do,and walking with her through the starry darkness, with othercouples

swinging along on all sides of them— and when she gotinside her room she undressed and put away the flamingopink stole with the certainty that she would never wear itagain.

A simple little black dress, which had nevertheless cost agreat deal of money, and a tinsel-tawdry stole, that—compared with a golden gown and some emeralds that hadbeen sending out shafts of green fire on a slender, perfectneck, and at shell-like ears, and on pale wrists, too—musthave made Armand smile! A little English girl with nobackground whatsoever who was trying to do thesophisticated thing in Paris; and all he had to do was toenter a restaurant in his finely-tailored evening things andwalk sinuously across the floor, with something feminineand spectacular on his arm, in order to have all the waitersin the place, including the maitre d’hotel himself, convergingon him from all corners, and all anxious to do him honour!

So much she had noted, despite the welter of herconfusion, and so much Christopher had commented on

before they left.

“That’s what comes of being well known...! That’s whatcomes of being Armand de Marsac...!”

As she tried to get to sleep Caroline thought that the nameof Armand de Marsac would always be like a sword- thrustthrough her heart.

CHAPTER XV

But, in the morning, when she heard his voice reaching herover a telephone wire, she no longer thought of sword-thrusts. She only thought that she must be still asleep, anddreaming, and that if she was awake it was a miracle sheought to be humbly grateful for.

Armand said:

“I’m coming to collect you at ten o’clock...! Can you beready? Is that too early for you?”

“Too early... ?” She was hardly awake, and she wassupporting herself on her pillow, and the hand that held thepale ivory telephone was trembling uncontrollably. I...”

“It’s early for Paris, but it shouldn’t be for you—if you didn’tstay up too late last night! What time did that fellowMarkham take you back to your hotel?”

“I can’t remember....”

“You had an enjoyable evening?”

“I--- ”

“You can’t remember?” his voice said mockingly. “Well, thatsounds bad! At least I was extremely sober when I went tobed, and I am already up and dressed. I’ll be with you in anhour!” Caroline sprang out of bed when the line went dead.She dressed herself in a frantic rush, ordered some coffeeto be brought up to her room, but ate nothing at all with it,and then put on her grey suit and a little white blouse, andwent through into Lady Pen’s adjoining room.

She didn’t have to explain to Lady Pen, who was enjoying amore elaborate breakfast.

“Armand has just telephoned,” the old lady said, a ratherwhimsical expression on her face. “The boy is quiteinconsiderate, but he tells me he had a feeling I was awake,and he wishes to show you something of Paris. I knowChristopher has shown you Paris, but a Frenchman mightbe able to show it to you a little better” her eyes restingthoughtfully on Caroline, who was looking so neat, and trim,and English, in her unostentatious outfit. She put out a handand lightly patted her arm. “Have a good day, my dear, anddon’t worry about anything,” she said. She pushed hergently away from the bed. “Remember, don’t worry about

anything!” Caroline went down in the gilded cage thatserved for a lift, wondering a little vaguely why she hadbeen given such an instruction; and then she saw Armandwaiting for her near the Reception Desk. It was just teno’clock, and he was looking very fresh, and his eyes took ineverything that she was wearing, and the way the softbrown hair bobbed on her shoulders. She was carrying alittle white hat in her hand, but he took it from her andtossed it on to the back seat of the car and said carelessly:

“You won’t want that, because it isn’t going to be aterrifically hot day, and I like to see your hair uncovered!And you’re wearing the suit you were wearing the day I firstmet you, aren’t you?—Or, rather, the evening I first metyou!”

“Yes,” she answered.

He smiled at her sideways as he slid behind the wheel inhis graceful, sinuous fashion.

“You see, I don’t forget anything...! If you’d been wearing abathing suit I would have remembered!”

“If I’d been wearing a bathing suit you would have hadcause to remember! It isn’t the sort of outfit one normallytravels in!”

He laughed almost joyously.

“Oh, Carol, don’t look so solemn! And don’t sound as if youwere a vicar’s youngest daughter who has been brought upto regard sea bathing as a step on the road to ruin! And asI know you don’t intend to ask me I’ll tell you that the lady Iwas with last night is my new leading lady—remember Isaid something about leading ladies to you once?—andthis one is admittedly what I feel sure Christopher Markhamwould describe as a “smasher”! She’s going to be a smashhit, too, when she appears in my play, and the play itself isgoing to be a tremendous success—I feel it in my bones.Another tremendous success for Armand de Marsac, whichmeans that I’ll be able to have an idle few months next year!I may even travel abroad for a bit, and become a lotus-eater! Would you like to become a lotus-eater with me,Carol?”

She said nothing, and he murmured softly:

“You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to do anythingbut sit there and be comfortable, until I decant you at ourfirst port of call.”

Their “first port of call” was one that surprised her intensely.They drove through tree-lined streets and avenues until theyarrived in one of the most fashionable residential corners ofParis, and there, outside a block of modern flats, he pulledup. The flats were palatial and built of gleaming white stone,and they towered above the tops of the trees in the squarethey overlooked. Most of the flats had balconies, and quite

a few of the balconies had awnings, gaily striped in greenand white, and red and white, so that the general effect wasmost pleasing, and distinctly reminiscent of the South ofFrance. Armand slipped out from his seat and held herdoor open for her, and when she looked at him enquiringly,smiled and shook his head.

“Wait,” he said. “Only wait!”

They went up in a lift that was less ornamental than the oneat the hotel, but ten times more efficient, and Armand saidgood morning to the concierge, who answered with agratified look, as if his day had been made by theencounter. He also looked a little surprised, and studiedCaroline with interest, and when Armand took her arm andled her out of the lift and along the corridor he watchedthem with an intrigued expression on his face, for Monsieurle Comte had observed that it was going to be another fineday, and as everyone knew the weather was severaldegrees cooler. Also it was unlike the Comte to be out ofhis flat at all at this hour, and that was another cause forspeculation. Very definite speculation!

Caroline realised that the lift had carried them to the verytop of the building, and she felt a little awed as she glancedfrom a window and had a brief glimpse over a wildernessof trees to a mass of dreaming spires and gargoyles andsun-gilded roofs. It was just as if the whole of Paris wasspread out like a carpet for her to gaze at.

And when Armand took a key from his pocket and openeda white-painted, glistening door another little shock ofsurprise was in store for her, followed by a swift uprush ofappreciation. For the hall they stepped into was small butbeautifully proportioned, a wave of olive grey carpetseemed to come at them, and polished sycamore doorsconfronted them. Armand apologised for going ahead andpushing open one of those doors, and then Caroline felt herappreciation expanding, growing, until she wanted toexclaim aloud.

She had never known such a sensation of spacious livingbefore, and the whole of one wall seemed to be madeentirely of glass, and beyond the glass flowers on thebalcony waved colourfully against the pale blue sky. Theroom itself was a harmony of subtly different greys— blue-greys, mauvish-greys, green-greys, and even pinkish greys.There were deep armchairs and settees in pearly- greydamask, filled with cushions that repeated the tints of theceiling, the three more solid walls, and the sycamore woodthat ran waist-high around the room, and coordinated thewhole. In this infinitely pleasing panelling were insets suchas radiators and cabinets, and more flowers were arrangedon the low shelf. An alcove was obviously a dining alcove,and the chairs had olive damask seats. The table held onesingle magnificent specimen of branching silver candelabrathat had obviously been brought from the chateau.

“Well?” Armand demanded, at last, watching her curiously.

“What do you think of my sitting-room?”

“This is your—flat?”

She managed to articulate the words, but in spite of thepleasure the room filled her with they sounded bothcolourless and inadequate.

“Yes—this is my flat!”

He walked to the window, and then beckoned her to comeand stand beside him.

“Do you like the view? I told you I had a wonderful view,didn’t I?”

“Then you were referring to this—you really were referringto this flat, where you obviously live when you are in Paris,when you talked about living at the top of a tall building?”And she couldn’t explain that when he had first mentionedthat “tall building” she had pictured it surrounded by meanstreets, with the smells of cooking floating up from thebasement, and perhaps garbage also, and a colony of catsindulging in musical evenings amongst the attic roofs atsunset.

“Why, naturally I was referring to the only other home I haveapart from the chateau,” but the bland innocence of hisexpression made a tiny spurt of anger against him oncemore rise inside her. For she knew it was he who had

deliberately fostered the “mean streets” idea when he hadtalked to her about sharing poverty, and the unhealthy stateof his bookshop. “But it needn’t alarm you because I havebrought you here,” looking at her rather whimsically, “or putany ideas of the wrong sort into that small head of yours,because my housekeeper has merely gone shopping forlunch, and she’ll be back any minute now. But before shegets back I’d like to show you the rest of the flat.”

She said, diffidently:

“Your housekeeper has gone shopping for lunch? Won’tshe think it rather—rather strange when she gets back andfinds me here?”

“Not at all. She’s expecting you to stay to lunch.”

“To—lunch?”

He smiled at her.

“You needn’t be afraid of her cooking—it’s excellent!” “But-

“No buts!” He swung open a door, and showed her a littleroom lined with books, and with a delightful marquetry tableunder the window holding an exquisite pair of china lamps,and a closed blotter, which was obviously the room in whichhe worked. There was another, more practical desk in acorner, with an angle-poise lamp on it, and a swivel chairbefore it, and on the sycamore shelf in this room there were

several photographs in different types of frames. Armandwent across and picked one up and handed it to her.

“The young lady you saw last night,” he told her.“Enchanting, isn’t she?”

Caroline looked at the pictured face carefully. Yes; she wasenchanting, and she stifled a sigh inside her, because shecould never possibly look like that, and Armand waswatching her closely. As she handed it back she didn’trealise that her expression was most revealingly wistful.

“It would be wonderful to look like that,” she said, and

Armand returned gently:

“You shouldn’t worry—you do very well as you are!” Beforethey left his study she noticed that a large collection of hisbooks were in English, and he seemed to have a completeset of Shakespeare.

Which didn’t surprise her so much when she reflected thathe

was a playwright.

He showed her to the kitchen, which was so beautifullyappointed that she longed to spend some time in it herself,the spare bedroom and bathroom, and finally his ownbedroom. And here again she was conscious of surprise,

for, as if some freakish whim had affected him when he gotdown to the adornment of his own sleeping chamber, hehad gone in for a severity of furnishing that was hardly inkeeping with the rest of the flat. True, the carpet wasluxurious, and a kind of pale mushroom colour, the curtainsand coverlet plain but heavy silk, but there were no touchesto soften it, or render it particularly comfortable. It was evena trifle monastic, Caroline thought— and longed to dosomething to make it a little more habitable. Which wasabsurd, as she realised, when she thought about itafterwards, for such as it was it was its owners whim.

And there was no doubt about it he was, in many ways, awhimsical young man.

She expected him to say something before they left hisbedroom—something to embarrass her slightly, but hedidn’t. And by the time they returned to the main sitting-room his housekeeper had returned, and he introduced her,and Caroline thought her a little more tight-lipped andreserved than Monique, but obviously extremely competentin her neat black dress, and with her hair drawn into a bunthat suggested she was the type who brooked nononsense.

She endeavoured to conceal the interest she felt inCaroline from the girl herself—for, had Caroline known it, itwas not a habit of the Comte’s to entertain young women tolunch at his flat, or to ask his housekeeper to prepare

something special in the way of a midday meal for theirbenefit—and when she had left the room Armand putCaroline into a comfortable chair, and provided her with adrink. Then, until the meal was served, they talked as if theyhad only just got to know one another, on all sorts ofsubjects that interested them both.

Caroline felt a new sensation of peace and well-beingcome over her, ensconced in the comfortable chair, andalthough it seemed to her extraordinary that Armand hadasked her out to lunch like this, and was wasting time onher that could probably be better—and more satisfyingly—spent, she began to feel so grateful to him for telephoningher so early that morning that she longed to be able toconfide how grateful she was. It was sheer bliss to besitting there with him, in his own home, his rightfulenvironment—for, somehow, the chateau would never bethat, she knew—and to know that she need make no effort,nor put up any sort of pretence, because he was soobviously feeling the same way about things.

He looked as peaceful as she felt, lying back in his owndeep chair, and there was no longer even any mockery inhis eyes, or the slightest degree of teasing. His attitudewas relaxed, his brown eyes quiet and watchful and a littletender sometimes, when she said something a little naive,and the little one-sided smile at the corner of his mouth wasno longer in evidence. His mouth, too, had an unguardedreposefulness about it, and in repose it was a singularly

beautiful and quietly strong mouth. There was no weaknessin his chin, either, as she had noticed at the very beginningof their acquaintance.

Looking at him, whenever he didn’t happen to be looking ather, with all her heart in her eyes, she thought that theremust be moments when he was lonely, and when heneeded someone to share his life, perhaps to give himconfidence, or to give a boost to his confidence when itwas slipping a little. There was a sensitivity about his face,an earnestness at times, just a touch occasionally ofwistfulness, and all three of these proofs of a temperamentthat would probably be described as “artistic” caused herheart to lurch when she glimpsed them, and she wished thatshe could be the one to share his life. She wished it soardently that her desire shook her and she had to takeherself very firmly in hand as she sat there facing him, incase something in her expression should give her away.

And she was lucky to be where she was—especially afterlast night, when she had found it impossible to get used tothe idea that he had put her out of his life altogether!— andshe tried to think only of how lucky she was, and to think ofand live only in the moment. While it lasted it was, andshould be, sufficient!

When the lunch was served she enjoyed it far more thanshe had enjoyed her dinner with Christopher the nightbefore, and she felt a little guilty when she thought of

Christopher, and the time he had recently devoted to her.

“I’ve no doubt,” Armand said to her at last, when theyemerged from the flats after lingering over their coffee, andhe once more put her into the car, “that your friendMarkham has already shown you what he considers to bethe sights of Paris. They’re like London and WestminsterAbbey—the sort of sights not to be missed, or he wouldconsider they shouldn’t be missed!” with such a sharp edgeof dislike to his voice that it amazed her a little for she hadnever realised that he disliked Christopher so stronglybefore. “Last night, for instance, that restaurant he took youto was the sort of place I wouldn’t have taken you to—notuntil you were a little more prepared for it, that is! You’re nota town mouse, my little one, and that is why one has to becareful how one uses you,” letting his fingers stray over hersbefore he started up the car. “And this afternoon I’m goingto show you something that a country mouse—at heart!—will appreciate more, I think!”

And he turned the car away from the busy heart of Paris,and soon she found herself on the way to Fontainebleau, aquiet and clean little town with a military flavour about thirtymiles from the capital, and famed for its palace whereNapoleon took leave of his grenadiers after his firstabdication, and to which he returned after his escape fromElba.

The afternoon was not hot and brilliant, but clouded and

warm, with intermittent sunshine, and an occasionalrefreshing breeze that reached them over the top of thewide windscreen.

The cream car travelled like a dream, eating up miles in acompletely effortless manner, and Caroline knew the drivewas going to be one of the high-spots of her existence rightfrom the beginning. She lay back and let the wind sing pasther ears, and her heart felt temporarily as light as air, andshe refused to dwell upon how she would feel, and whatwould happen to their relationship, once the afternoon wasover. That was something that belonged to the future, andfor the moment she was living in the present.

Fontainbleau, when they reached there, proved well worththe visit, even if she had been seeing it for the first timeunder the auspices of someone other than Armand. Theywandered through rooms that contained a good deal of thepersonal equipment of Napoleon I, including his hat, and hisclock, and his camp-bed. They saw the magnificent CouncilChamber in which he had presided, and the Throne Room,and the Queen’s Apartments, and a room hung withGobelin’s tapestries. Caroline was fascinated by a roomwith a marquetry floor, and by the largest carpet she hadever seen in her life. Then they wandered in the formalgardens, and afterwards they had tea, and then drove intothe forest, loud with the voices of nightingales in spring, anda pageant of colour in the autumn.

It was on the drive back that a little of the pleasure began tofade, and a feeling like apprehension began to seize holdof Caroline. She knew that she was beginning to feelsecretly convinced that when the moment which shouldbring this day Armand—for some reason of his own—haddevoted to her to an end, should be actually on top of her,some vital part of her was going to be barely able to standup to it. For, just as he had taken it into his head to inviteher out to-day, he might never invite her out again, and nextweek, in any case, they were going home to England. Onlythe day before Lady Pen had started talking about Cook’s,and getting them to make the necessary reservations; andnow, when she recalled that conversation, Caroline’s handswent cold and damp inside her thin nylon gloves.

Cook’s...! Cook’s and the reservations, packing up all

their luggage, vacating their hotel rooms-----------Boarding a

Channel steamer that would take her away from Francealmost certainly for good....For a long time, at any rate....

She began to feel as if something inside her was like apiece of tightly stretched wire, and it couldn’t stand verymuch more. The least bit of unsuspected pressure and itwould snap.

She watched Armand’s hands on the wheel of the car, socalm and confident. He lay back in his corner of the car,

behind the wheel, driving with an ease that suggested hehad been doing it since his cradle, and that his mind wascompletely unperturbed. Stealing side glances at him shedecided that he was unperturbed...! He had been verygentle and pleasantly attentive to her all afternoon, tellingher lots of things that guide books could not have told her,suggesting that she must see Fontainbleau in the autumn,when there was all that blaze of colour in the woods—justas there would be a blaze of colour in the de Marsac woodsbefore very long!—and remarking that it was a pity shehadn’t had her holiday with Marthe Giraud.

“But perhaps, when Marthe comes out of hospital you’ll beable to see her somehow,” he said. “She ought to have aholiday... ! Shall I insist that she takes a holiday in England,and comes to see you?”

Caroline felt as if something had risen up in her throat andwas about to choke her. She swallowed, and managed tospeak.

“I-----Of course, I’ll always be glad to see her...”

“How soon do you return to England?” he asked, casually. “Idon’t suppose Lady Pen will stay on in Paris much longer,will she? And that nephew of hers will be going back toEast Africa one of these days, or so I imagine.”

“West Africa,” Caroline corrected him, although she could

not think why she did so, since it was not important.

“West Africa, then....” He sent her an odd, amusedsideways glance under the brim of his soft hat. “Sinceyou’re so specific about his eventual destination you’re notthinking of going back

with him, are you?”

She bit her lip.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not! He was looking at you as if he could eat you lastnight, and you’ve admitted he’s been taking you about a lotsince you arrived in Paris. I shouldn’t be at all surprised ifLady Pen hasn’t got that in mind—that you’d make a nicelittle wife for Christopher! And, come to think of it, youwould...! In a few years he’ll be terribly straight-laced, takinghis job so seriously that he’ll almost certainly get whateverpromotion there is to be got in that particular service thesedays, and with you beside him he might get almostanywhere! You’re loyal, and faithful, and upright, and moral,and you’re probably single-minded, too! You’d conceive ityour duty to do everything you could to help him, whether itwas in West Africa, or Central Africa, or one of the plaguespots—if there are any that haven’t been cleaned up in thishighly civilised age! And think how pleasant it would be forChristopher to have you with him all the time!”

Caroline didn’t bite her lip this time, but she knew that, aslow tear was welling into one of her eyes, and that it wouldspill over before very long. She could hardly believe that hewas deliberately mocking at her—her whom he hadadmitted he loved! But, then, of course, the love had died,because she had probably killed it—just as he had saidshe would kill all the happiness that could ever be betweenthem!

She widened her eyes, so that the tear wouldn’t spill over—but it was no good, it dropped on to her hand.

But he was staring at the road winding on interminably, as itnow seemed, ahead of them.

“You must think of it, Caroline,” he advised. “Think ofmarrying Christopher...! It would solve all your problems!You wouldn’t have to go back to that nasty little room ofyours, and you wouldn’t have to be dependent on LadyPen’s affectionate charity! You’d be your own mistress, witha home of your own, and a husband who’d never let youdown—for Christopher is

made that way!”

So much bitterness flooded through her that she started toshake a little. He was jibing at her now—at her state ofinsecurity, at her need to accept charity from others. Butshe wouldn’t—she needn’t! When she got back to England

she would cut loose from them all, and go back to her littleroom. She would probably be lucky and get her job back,and if not she could get herself another....

“You know very well that you’re only talking like that in orderto be—horrible!” she said, her lips shaking now as well asthat traitorous thing inside her that was appalled becausehe had recovered so completely from what was now provedto have been nothing but a very passing infatuation. “When Iget back to England,” she added, with suddenconcentrated fierceness, “I hope I never see or hear of youagain!”

“Oh, come now, Carol!” he protested, lightly. “We had avery pleasant fortnight together!”

“It was a fortnight I’d rather forget!”

He shrugged.

“It is a pity to forget some things, because they provide uswith the memories that are often pleasant to recall longafter the event is over. When you and I are both married,with families growing up around us, we’ll probably thinkoften of these days—or, rather, the days at Le Fontaine,when we thought we’d found something rather magical, andit all happened because Marthe broke her ankle. We’ll bevery grateful to Marthe for breaking her ankle because shegave us something to look back upon....”

“I shan’t look back!”

He sighed.

“You are difficult to please. Almost,” on a note of dryness,“one would think you wish to have your cake and eat it, too!But this sort of cake either has to be eaten or rejectedaltogether, and I have made up my mind in the interest of usboth that it is best to reject it altogether! One day you willagree with me that it was a wise decision!”

The car sped on, and she felt as if misery pressed upon herlike a live thing. But she kept her face averted so that heshould not even guess at her distress.

“Are you flying back to London?” he asked, at last, as if hewas mildly interested. “I know Lady Pen is a little allergic toair travel, and she usually prefers to go by sea. With you, ofcourse, she might feel different, and then there isChristopher to give her a feeling of solid British support! Ifyou do go by air I’d like to see you off at the airport.... I’mnot so fond of railway stations....” He caught a curious littlesound above the smooth running of his engine, and the verynext instant the car had started to slow, and finally it hadcome to rest beneath a gigantic, towering chestnut tree thatspread its branches right across the road. He switched offhis engine, and there was absolute silence on all sides ofthem— silence, that is, except for that vague little gaspingnoise, like someone or something unable any longer to

cope with such an unbearable weight of loneliness anddesolation that the tears were falling fast—and as the roadwas completely empty, and there was nothing but woods,and fields and a cottage or two in the distance to witnesswhat he was doing, he reached out and drew herpassionately close to him.

“Carol...! You beloved, foolish little thing...! Don’t you knowI’ve only been trying to punish you?” He pressed her headagainst him, and his own fingers were shaking now. “Oh,my darling, you hurt me so much by your lack of faith, and Iwas brute enough to want to hurt you back...! And now Ican’t forgive myself!”

She put back her head and looked up at him, and althoughher eyes were swimming with tears, there was the wonderof a new hope in them.

“You mean...? Oh, Armand..! She clutched at him. “Youmean it isn’t all over between us?”

“Not while we’ve life and breath, and I can prevent it!”

He held her so tightly that her breath was very nearlysqueezed out of her, and she could feel the thundering ofhis heart against her. He dropped frantic kisses on her hair,and she closed her eyes and the bright drops rolled off herlashes and splashed down on to his hand. An anguishednote entered his voice as he added: “Darling, don’t you

know that we belong to one another?— And we belongedfrom the beginning! As if I’d let you go! As if I’d let you go!”

“But, you said--------” her voice was more muffled, and

she was nestling against him, feeling like someone whohad been washed up by a storm into a safe place at last—“you said that our love would be in ruins in a short time if—if we stayed together! That I’d interfere with your work,and we’d bitterly regret it! But, oh, Armand,” stealing up ahand to touch his face, “oh, my dearest, my darling Armand!If I can’t be with you I don’t know what I’m going to do!” andher voice quivered abjectly, just as her whole slender bodyquivered in his clasp.

He looked down at her with a tenderness that sheremembered all the rest of her life, and he put the tumbledhair back from her brow with a tender hand.

“When I said that I was beside myself with wretchedness,”he told her, “and also, as I’ve told you, I wanted to hurt you! Ifelt that you despised me, and I couldn’t bear it! I felt you’dnever trust me, and that nearly drove me demented! All mylife I’ve cared nothing for the opinions of other people, andthen, when I met you, I cared so much for your opinion that Istarted off by telling you lies! But it was only because I lovedyou so much— right from the beginning!—and because Iknew you were the only woman I ever could love!Sweetheart,” he implored, bending to her lips, “say you

believe me now!”

She wound her arms about his neck and held him with atouch of mother-love, as well as the fierce possessivenessof her woman’s adoration.

“I believe you, Armand, my darling!—I’ll always believe you,”with passionate earnestness, “whether it’s important orunimportant that I should do so!”

“And you’ll marry me?”

“If—her soft lips trembling beneath his—if you really wantme to!”

“I really want you to!” He crushed her to him. “Carol, thereare still moments when I could shake you...! When it seemsto me that you are positively stupid! You, the loveliest,sweetest, most adorable woman who has ever entered mylife, and you raise a query as to whether or not I want tomarry you!” He put his fingers beneath her chin and lookedlong and earnestly into her eyes. “I want you to marry me somuch that it’s an obsession with me! To-day I fully meant tobeg you to marry me, even if you still showed signs ofdisdaining me a little, and I told Lady Pen when Itelephoned her this morning that I would bring you backwhen you had agreed to become my wife, and not before!”“You—you did?” She could hardly believe the evidence ofher ears, and her eyes were radiant. “Oh, Armand what did

she say?” She thought it was a splendid idea, andcongratulated me in advance.”

“Then, she thought ------- ?”

“I think she did—yes,” he said, gently. “Apparently whereshe was concerned, at least, you wore your heart on yoursleeve!”

She leaned her head against him, and sighed.

“Lady Pen is terribly shrewd, and I don’t think it needed avery shrewd woman to tell I was in love with you! HelenMansfield probably knew it, Christopher certainly knew it,and

your Diane ----------------------- ”

“Not my Diane, darling,” with slightly upraised brows. “Wehave been good friends for years, but nothing more— thatmuch I can solemnly and truthfully reassure you about! Icould have done so before, but I wasn’t so certain youmerited the reassurance, since you seemed so eager tothink badly of me. But now that I have your word that thereare to be no more doubts” “No more doubts, my beloved!”

He kissed her lingeringly.

“It is true that I have been no saint, but even I have a code.In future I shall be a model husband, and the world will take

a new view of Armand de Marsac.”

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his.“And I will be a model wife!”

“And we will have lots of children, and the first one will be agirl with violet eyes!”

Although she blushed vividly at this she couldn’t resistdisputing the statement a little.

“No; a boy with brown eyes...! I love your eyes, Armand,”touching them gently, caressingly, with her finger-tip. “I havedreamed about them night after night for so many nightsnow, and last night I was so unhappy...”

“And I could have picked Christopher Markham up by thescruff of the neck and thrown him out on to the pavementwhen I saw you with him last night. To think that the two ofyou have been seeing Paris together...!”

“But you could have telephoned me earlier,” she remindedhim, demurely.

He looked at her with the old Puckish impishness in hiseyes.

“But I was inflicting my punishment...! I couldn’t cut it shorttoo soon!”

“Your punishment made me the unhappiest woman in theworld just now,” she said soberly, sitting upright

beside him. “I was so unhappy, I----------------”” She reached

out a hand to him, and looked at him imploringly. “Oh,Armand, never punish me again, will you?” she begged.

And only a car travelling towards them at speed preventedhim from sweeping her back into his arms and assuringher, with more than words, that he would never punish heragain.

At last they were on their way once more to Paris, and hetold her that he was taking her back to his flat for dinner.

“I told Lady Pen that she would be lucky if she saw youagain before midnight, but she knows you will be safe withme.” He touched her knee gently as they moved noiselesslyalong one of the broad avenues, and drew nearer to his flat.“And you are safe with me, little one! I mean to make youmy wife in as short a time as possible, and Lady Pen hasagreed to stay on in Paris and chaperone you untileverything can be arranged. But in the meantime you will beas safe with me as with Lady Pen,” and he drew her handinside his arm and kept it there until they drew up outsidethe gleaming block of flats Caroline had seen for the firsttime that morning.

His housekeeper, who departed for her own home in the

evenings, had left them a cold meal all beautifully laid out inthe dining alcove, and Caroline’s heart leapt when she sawthe table arrangements. In future, and very soon now, thiswould be her own home, and she could hardly believe it.

Then she went and washed and refreshed herself in thebathroom, and when she rejoined Armand he was waitingfor her in the big living-room. He put a glass into her hand,and then looked at her deliberately over the top of his own.

“To our future happiness, my darling, and to the lovelywoman I waited for!”

Later—much later—he drew her out on to the balcony, andthe moon was climbing into the sky above the feathery topsof the trees, that were rustling gently in the night wind.Caroline, looking breathlessly up at the silvery slice ofmoon, thought that last night it had looked very young andslim, whereas to-night it was already shedding a radiantlight across the roof-tops of Paris.

Paris...! She could hear the hiss of tyres on the smooth,beautifully-kept road below her, and a low but constantmurmur, that was the murmur of other Paris traffic, came upto them. Above them the stars shone like diamonds on ablue-black dinner-gown, the moon peered at its reflection inthe river.

Armand’s arms held her close. He held her as if he could

never let her go again.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Oh, cherie, I love you!”

She put back her head until the bright brown hair strayedacross his jacket and covered his shoulder.

“Do you need me to tell you I love you?” she whispered.

“I shall always need you to tell me that,” he assured her. Helooked at her almost humbly in the deepening dusk. “I don’tknow why you should love me, my dear one, since I am tencomplete years older than you are! But I promise you that Iwill make you happy! If you will only bear with mesometimes—just sometimes, when I am not all that youwould desire!—then there will be no happier couple inParis than you and I, my sweet!”

She looked up at him seriously.

“And sometimes—sometimes we will go and stay at thechateau?”

“I was going to talk to you about that.” He touched hercheek gently. “I have thought of turning it into some sort of aconvalescent home for children, since it is a pity that itshould serve no useful purpose; but for you and I therecould always be the tower rooms—my mother’s suite!Would you like it if we kept those rooms for ourselves,darling?”

“Oh, Armand, I would love that!”

“And Monique shall look after them for us.... Marthe isgrowing too old, and I will have to retire her somewhere. Butboth she and Monique must come to our wedding.... Atleast, I don’t think we can wait for Marthe to be fit, butMonique must certainly be there.”

“It was Monique who told me how good, and kind, andwonderful you are,” she told him, her adoring eyes neverleaving his face.

“Wonderful—me?” He sounded genuinely amazed. “Mysweet one, that is somewhat of a departure from youroriginal opinion of me!”

But she shook her head.

“No, even in the beginning I think I must have known —whenRobert told me how generous you are!”

“Robert!” he exclaimed, softly. “That is another one we mustinvite to the wedding! We couldn’t possibly leave him out!”Caroline smiled.

“No, we couldn’t leave him out.”

“There will probably be occasions,” he warned her, “when Ishall be jealous of Robert! I remember you told me that you

loved him, but you could only loathe me?”

“Oh, don’t!” she begged.

“Very well.” He held her from him. “Where shall we go forour honeymoon?”

She blushed deliciously under cover of the darkness. “Dowe need to have a honeymoon? You said that you weregoing to be busy this autumn.... Why don’t we just comeback here?”

“Because you need a real change, and I have got to lookafter you, and get you tanned and fit-looking. You arelooking much better than a few weeks ago, but your naturaldelicacy makes my heart turn over at times. We will go tothe West Indies, or somewhere like that.... And we will goby sea. Then, after that, we will come back here!” He drewher close, very close. “I could never have tempted you withanything but my love, could I?” he asked. “You are like thenymph who would not be tempted by the passionateshepherd because she could not be certain that underneaththe passion there was love!” And he quoted, in suchexcellent English that the words did not sound odd on hislips:

“If all the world and love were young,

And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,

These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee,and be thy love.”

“And be thy love” he repeated, against her lips. “And, oh,you are my very, dear love!”