Within five minutes, having gone a roundabout way, Paul, as if he had come from the outskirts of the park, met the young woman face to face. Lise was walking with lowered head, pushing aside idly with the end of her parasol the dead leaves blown from the oaks and cedars, whose great branches met overhead in a thick arch, which made the spot dim and mysterious. At the sound of the painter's footsteps she raised her eyes. "You?" she exclaimed, in an ironical voice. "So you are as good a runner as you are a horseman." "I don't understand you," said Paul, bowing. "Because you don't want to. A few moments ago, as I was coming down the steps from the house, I saw you at one of the windows of the fencing-room. You must have been very fleet, then, to be here as soon as I am, coming direct from the château, while you seem to be coming from the other side of the park." Finding his stratagem exposed, Paul Meyrin could not but blush slightly. He quickly recovered his composure, and said frankly: "Well then, yes, you are right, madame. Chance is not to be thanked for this meeting. For some days now I have been trying in vain to speak to you. You seemed to avoid me; and I have dared, therefore, to join you here and now." After hesitating a moment or two, and seeming about to turn and retrace her steps, the daughter of the Countess Barineff, with an odd, resolute gesture, walked onward. Paul walked beside her. The last rays of the sun scarcely pierced the thick wall of verdure formed by the great trees of the avenue; the air was warm, charged with electricity, and heavy with the balsamic odors of the Norwegian pine-trees. From the woods could only be heard the rustle of a breeze, and the first timid notes, at long intervals, of the song-birds of the evening. Under these shades, in the perfumed air, a mysterious harmony reigned, a thrilling calm, of which nature alone has the secret. "What have you to say to me that is so interesting?" said the princess, after a momentary silence. "I have a favor to ask of you." "A favor? What?" "That you will sit to me for a few hours." Whether or not this was the proposal she had expected, the mistress of Pampeln trembled slightly. As the princess did not reply, the painter added: "You would not have me paint a masterpiece, then?" The artist had spoken the words in so fervid and exalted a tone, that the princess, halting abruptly, and plunging as it were her eyes into Paul's, said, in a firm, vibrating voice: "You love me, Monsieur Meyrin. That is what your request poorly hides." "Madame."