“The finest mask with which Nature ever fitted man or woman is a laugh, Lucette. Yes, I can laugh at my own follies and wishes and troubles and--aye, even at my own bereavements.” The gaiety of his tone was just as bright and free; and he continued to smile when Lucette again looked at him earnestly. “Is that smile a mask, too? I would gladly know what is behind it,” she said. “I think I myself shall know better when, say, there are twenty leagues between Morvaix and me.” They stood looking one at the other a moment, and then Denys came out and joined them. “Come to my rescue, Denys,” cried Pascal gaily. “Here is Madame Burgher trying to cross-examine me.” “Aye, come and take a lesson in word fencing, Denys,” said Lucette. “You may need many lessons when you fence with Lucette, my good friend.” “I know it,” replied Denys with a smile, as he slipped his arm into hers and glanced at her. “They would keep me in Morvaix,” laughed Pascal. “And not they alone, Pascal. Do you know, Lucette, I have tried by the hour to persuade him to stay. But he tells me there are--shall I say it?” and he looked at Pascal, who shrugged his shoulders. “There are a woman’s eyes calling him away.” “Warning me away, was what I said, friend.” “’Tis the same thing,” declared Denys. “Maybe; but ’twas the term I used. I think I have learnt to read more warnings than beckonings in women’s eyes. But ’tis the same in the end.” Lucette watched him steadily as he spoke, and then surprised Denys by saying very seriously, and with something very much like a sigh-- “If that be the reason, it is well that you go, Pascal.” “What, have you changed sides, Lucette?” cried Denys, rallying her. “’Tis a woman’s way, Denys, and ever will be,” laughed Pascal. “Wherever you go, Pascal, I wish you Godspeed with all my heart,” said Lucette in the same earnest, almost strenuous tone; and gave him her hand, which he carried to his lips. “Denys will not mind that, at any rate,” he said. Lucette shivered. “Take me in, Denys, I am chilled,” she said; and without saying more or looking again at Pascal, she hurried in. “’Tis a woman’s way, Denys, only and always a woman’s way,” he said, as Denys lingered a moment and then hurried after her. Pascal watched them with a smile until they had gone, and then turned grave, nodded once or twice, smiled again, and again was grave, until, with a shrug of the shoulders, he turned and swung away. The next morning all was bustle and commotion at the Castle, for the Bourbon troops were marching out. Gerard and Gabrielle and all from Malincourt were there to bid them farewell. They stood together, the centre of a large group, watching them start, and Lucette and Denys were a little apart from the rest.