I followed his glance and encountered the graceful form of the Baron de Nesselrode. He was attired in a velveteen shooting-suit of a golden-brown hue; had a game-bag slung across his shoulder, and carried a gun in his hand. Following at his heels were several dogs, amongst which the two gaunt wolf-hounds that we had seen at the château contributed to form a most picturesque group. As the Baron met my gaze, he smiled slightly, lifted his _sombrero_, and with a low bow passed on his way. But not before I had caught the look of decided dissatisfaction he threw towards my companion, who was sitting very close to me upon the bank. The look annoyed me, though I scarcely knew why. I certainly did not wish Monsieur de Nesselrode nor anybody else in St. Pucelle to think I was indulging in a flirtation with Charlie Sandilands, but at the same time I liked him too well to see any slight cast upon him without inwardly resenting it. So a blight fell on my spirits as the Baron passed out of sight. ‘Who is he? do you know him?’ asked Charlie, as soon as we were alone again. ‘Of course I know him, or I should not have returned his bow. That is the Baron de Nesselrode—a great friend of all the Lovetts—and a particular one of Tessie’s.’ ‘A particular friend of Miss Lovett’s!’ repeated my companion. ‘How do you mean?’ ‘I mean what I say; and I hope and think that at some future time he will be more than a friend to her. They would make a charming couple, for he is so thoroughly well-bred and courtier-like, and she has been reared in the atmosphere of a Court, although her father is now too poor to permit them to mix in society.’ ‘Do you mean that he’ll marry her?’ demanded Charlie, who was rather dull of comprehension. ‘What else do you suppose I could mean? Nothing is settled, remember; but the Baron wants a wife terribly, and Tessie is so sweet, I think she would love anybody who was kind to her.’ ‘Well, I should have thought she could do a deal better than that for herself.’ This disparaging remark was a signal-match for my bad temper, and I fired up immediately. ‘What a commonplace manner you have of expressing your ideas, Charlie. Besides, you do not know what you’re talking about. Monsieur de Nesselrode belongs to one of the first and oldest families of France. His ancestors have been barons by feudal right ever since the days of Charlemagne; and if it were not that he had been a little wild and careless of his money, you would not have seen him in a place like St. Pucelle at all. The Château des Roses, which he occupies here, is the least important portion of his estates. He possesses land in Switzerland, and Normandy, and Anjou, and is the owner of extensive house property in Paris. The De Nesselrodes have been attached to the King’s service ever since one of their ancestors saved a royal life. I believe you would not find better blood in all France than runs in the veins of the gentleman who has just passed us.’