She rose, went to the piano, and seated herself without a word. She played, not with the brilliance of the showy amateur nor with the hard precision of the professional, but as though the notes on which her light fingers fell re-echoed an intimate music of the soul. Through the grave breath-restrained emotion of a Chopin Nocturne she led him, then, with an enigmatic inconsequence, into the flitting, dainty, Harlequin and Columbine passion of a Chaminade that left a question poised, smilingly. A moment's interval, and with a deep contralto voice she commenced to sing a chanson of old France, that followed, simply, exquisite quiet notes, compact of love and the tragedy of love, poignantly eloquent in their unadorned statement of the theme. He went across to the piano, stood over her. She felt his presence very close. A thrill passed into her voice, magical. She finished and stood up with a sudden movement. His glowing eyes were full with tears. "Bonsoir, monsieur," she said abruptly, stretching out her hand. The voice was not her own. He took her hand in his, held it tightly. His breath came in deep halations from a heaving chest. "Madame," he said in a low intense voice, "you are divine!" She strove to release her hand. "_Voyons!_" she said plaintively, almost tearfully, averting her face. "We met only to-day." "And to-morrow?--Who knows?" "No! no! no!" she cried and tore away her hand from his. "Bonsoir, monsieur!" She ran across the room like a startled fawn, bowed herself against the stone fireplace, her face hidden. He saw her shoulders heave. He followed her, stood irresolute. She turned on him suddenly. "Oh, isn't there enough suffering in the world," she cried, "without----?" "Without love?" He advanced with outstretched arms, laid his hands upon her shoulders. She stiffened, fending him off. "Without love? If to love is to suffer," he said in a voice deeply harmonious, "to love is also to live. And I have waited so long to live! Have waited for you, my twin soul! We met only to-day? What if we have only to-day to live----?" She leaned back, away from him, yet held in his grasp. "Oh, no, no, no! I mustn't listen!" Her bosom filled. Her eyes closed. She crumpled suddenly in his arms. * * * * * The next morning, mounted upon a fine-bred chestnut mare, a zealous Zouave at the bridle, she waited in the great courtyard behind the château. She had offered her knowledge of the locality to the colonel and gladly he had accepted it. He came towards her now on his noble black horse, bending down in grave talk with the chef de bataillon walking by his stirrup. She acknowledged his salutation, and a moment later they were riding out of the great gate together.