"I am going back to Normandy in a week, Miss Paget; shall I see you again before I leave England?" "I really don't know; our meetings are generally accidental, you see." "O yes, of course, always accidental," replied Gustave, smiling. "I am sorry you are going to leave London--for papa's sake." "And I, too, am sorry--for my own sake. But, you see, when one has daughters, and a farm, and a chateau, one must be on the spot. I came to England for one week only, and I have stayed six." "You have found so much to amuse you in London?" "Nay, mademoiselle, so much to interest me." "It is almost the same thing, is it not?" "A thousand times no! To be amused and to be interested--ah, what can be so widely different as those two conditions of mind!" "Indeed! Good night, Mr. Lenoble. Please ask the cabman to drive as fast as he can venture to do with consideration for his horse. I am afraid I shall be late, and my friends will be anxious about me." "You will be late. You consider your friends at Bayswater, and you consider even the cabman's horse. You are charity itself. Will you not consider me a little also, Miss Paget?" "But how?" "Let me see you before I go back to Normandy. Your papa likes to see you twice a week, I know. This is Monday night; will you come to see him on Thursday?" "If he wishes it." "He does wish it. Ah, how he wishes it! You will come?" "If Mrs. Sheldon and Charlotte can spare me." "They cannot spare you. No one can spare you. That cannot be. It is amongst the things that are impossible. But they will have pity upon--your father, and they will let you come." "Please ask the cabman to start. Indeed, I shall be late. Good night, M. Lenoble." "Good night." He took her hand in his, and kissed it, with the grace of a Bayard. He loved her, and took no trouble to conceal his passion. No shadow of doubt darkened that bright horizon to which M. Lenoble looked with hopeful eyes. He loved this penniless, motherless girl, as it was in the blood of the Lenobles to love the poor and the helpless; especially when poverty and helplessness presented themselves in the guise of youth and beauty. He loved her, and she would love him. But why not? He was ten years her senior, but that makes nothing. His auburn hair and beard, in the style of Henry the Great, could show no streak of grey. His eyes had the brightness of one-and-twenty; for the eyes of a man whose soul preserves its youthfulness will keep their clear lustre for half a century. The tall figure, straight as a dart; the frank handsome face which M. Lenoble saw in the glass when he made his toilet, were not calculated to dishearten a hopeful lover; and Gustave, by nature sanguine, enjoyed his dream of happiness, untroubled by one morbid apprehension.