As Jim comes into sight, the Frenchman clicks his heels, doubles up his body, lifts his hat, and walks away. It is evident, at all events, that their meeting was a casual one; and the reflection brings with it a sense of relief, coupled with a feeling of shame at his own rooted readiness to suspect her, on any or no evidence, which yet, on the other hand, is not strong enough, when she turns her sweet bright look towards him, to hinder the thought that it is scarcely, if at all, sweeter or brighter than that which he had caught her squandering on the casual _table d'hôte_ acquaintance who has just quitted her. "You, too!" she says; "why, the whole hotel seems to be emptied out into these gardens; the widow Wadman is buying violets--mark if they do not appear upon Uncle Toby at dinner to-night. The Vicomte----" "Yes, I saw you engaged in animated dialogue with him," interrupts Jim, with slight acrimony; "I had no idea that you were such allies." "Had not you?" rejoins she innocently. "He was telling me about his English governess, what a treasure she is"--her face dimpling mischievously--"and how wonderfully pure her accent. So it is--pure Cockney. You should hear the little Vicomte talk of the b_i_by and the p_i_pers." He rewards her small pleasantry only by an absent smile, and she speaks again--rather wistfully this time. "Have you been on another expedition?" "No, not an expedition; only a walk. If"--yielding to the temptation of putting a question which no one would have judged more severely than he, had it been put by anyone else--"if I had invited you to do me the honour of making another excursion with me to-day, do you think that you would have consented?" As he speaks, he departs yet further from the line of conduct he has marked out for himself by sitting down on the bench at her side. Her eyes are fixed upon the soaring date-palm, which stands, instead of a water-jet, in the middle of the fountain-basin, and on which last year's dead plumes hang sapless, and ready to fall off, in contrast to this year's verdant vigour. "Is not that rather a tantalizing question when you did not ask me?" inquires she, with soft archness. "Yes, I suspect that I should; I was so very happy yesterday; and although you told me the other night"--swallowing a sigh--"that you supposed I must love my own society, in point of fact, I do not think I do." After all, the sun is not quite gone; there are flashes of light in the verdant gloom, and green reflections in the water. "And yet," says Jim thoughtfully, "you seem to have a good deal of it; I suppose, in your position, it is unavoidable."