"Oh, Uncle Derrick," said Adrienne with a laugh and a sigh, "you don't know its charms. It will be a hard wrench to me to say good-bye to it. I am still hoping it may be saved. I have been calculating the time. If Cousin Guy received my letter, he might be on the way home." "I believe he went away to make it easy for your aunt. I know he thinks she is mistaken in living on there; and when he is at hand, she bleeds him, and convinces herself that he will not see her turned out." So in a very few days' time, Adrienne crossed the Channel once more. She could leave her uncle with an easy mind for a week or two. He was a man who was always occupied, and he told her that he had a good deal of business to see to in town, connected with his brother's estate. The glories of an early autumn were tinting the trees and hedges, and wrapping the woods and distant hills in a golden haze, when Adrienne arrived at her destination. She had an unpleasant moment or two at the station, for Monsieur and Madame Bouverie were seeing friends off in the train for Orleans. Madame Bouverie affected not to see Adrienne at first and called out in her shrill French voice: "Au revoir, Nancie; next time you visit us, you will find us comfortably installed in the Château, I hope. Ah! What a work is before us, bringing that mouldy old place up to date, but we shall do it. Inside and out you will be astonished at the metamorphosis!" Then with a triumphant smile she turned and nodded affably to Adrienne. "You have returned to help your aunt pack up. So glad to see you." Adrienne felt her bow was stiff; she passed out to where the car was waiting for her with hot indignation in her heart. But as she passed along the familiar lanes, and noted the tiny green shuttered houses, the purple bloom of the grapes on the sloping hills, and heard once more the melodious bells of the oxen passing along with their loads, she said to herself with a little glow within her: "This has become my second home. How I love it all!" It was a lovely afternoon; she glided up the old avenue, and noted the golden tints on the trees, and then came upon the old Château mellow and stately still. Tea was on the terrace and her aunt and Bertha Preston were both waiting to welcome her. Nothing marred the warmth of that welcome. Adrienne felt that her aunt was really attached to her, and old Pierre hovered about with a pleased smile on his withered face. He had gathered a dish of golden plums in honour of her return and she turned to thank him with her bright smile, but was rather taken aback to see his old eyes fill with tears. He hobbled off, furtively brushing the sleeve of his coat across his eyes. To Adrienne it seemed impossible that the old Château was going to pass away from the de Beaudesserts, and certainly her aunt seemed strangely unaware of the fact. She was all smiles and graciousness, telling Adrienne bits of local news, and asking with a little sympathy in her tone after her brother.