“It was here I saw her, I’ll swear,” he said aloud to himself. “I marked that old chestnut tree,” and he glanced at it. “Which way can she have gone? Lucette,” he called in a loud voice. “Lucette.” As he looked about him he backed close to the low trees behind which the two girls stood. “She can’t have wandered far. Lucette--Lucette,” he called again, and waited for his voice to come echoing back. Then Lucette, whose face had brightened at hearing him call for her, plucked a rose from her bosom and tossed it so that it fell upon him in its course to the ground. He picked it up and smiled. “A rose from an almond tree,” he said aloud. “Surely something of a strange portent. Where are you, Lucette; little witch, that changes the natural blooms of a tree?” Lucette had stepped on a low bough of a tree and now looked through the bushes. “I have dropped my rose, m’sieu. May I trouble you? Ah, M. Denys, is it you?” with a start of pretended surprise. “Lucette,” he said passionately. “Monsieur!” This distantly. “Come, Lucette. Let the rose make our peace. I have been thinking of you through all my long ride.” She came slowly toward him, parting the bushes and playing at indifference. “It is my rose, if you please, m’sieu.” “But you meant it for me,” and he kissed it and then tried to take her hands. But she drew back. “Do we know each other, m’sieu?” His answer was a smile and an attempt to take her in his arms. But she would not let him. Seeing his mood, she could not resist a chance to tease him further. “Have you forgotten what you said last night? Did you not ride off this morning without a word--a single word? Do you think I forgive so easily, and forget?” “I can answer that, Denys,” said Gabrielle, stepping out now from her place of concealment. She was anxious to end the quarrel and learn the news he brought. “She has forgiven you and is sorry for what she did. She has been heart-broken all the morning at your absence.” “Gabrielle, I----” began Lucette in protest. “It is true, Denys, every word. So make your peace with her. Come, Lucette, be true to yourself.” “Peacemaker as usual, mademoiselle,” cried Denys, with a happy, grateful smile. “Indeed, indeed, it is nothing of the sort. Denys said last night that----” “Never mind what I said in my anger, Lucette; I am sorry.” “But it was so causeless, so unjust, so--so horrible,” and she put her hands to her ears as if in horror at the mere recollection. Denys captured them then in his strong hands and held her a prisoner, while Gabrielle turned away. “Let me go, Denys, let me go; how dare you!” cried Lucette, as if in anger, and commenced to struggle, tapping her foot and averting her head as he strove to kiss her. “Let me go I say.” “Not till you say all that foolish quarrel is over, and you have kissed me.” “I will not. I will not. Let me go,” she cried, keeping up the pretence of anger. “Kiss me then.” “I will not. How dare you force me like this?”