My friend did not play long or skilfully, and I, like all ne'er-do-wells, played a fair game in those days. "Yes," he said, when handsomely beaten, "you evidently play on Sundays. Let us sit down and smoke." I could not help noticing that the music had ceased. Lucille and Alphonse were probably talking together in low voices at the piano while Madame kindly slept. "Don't scowl at me like that," said John Turner, "but take one of these cigars." We sat down, and smoked for some time in silence. "It is one thing," said my companion at length, "to give a man a fair chance, and another to throw away your own." "What do you mean?" "Why marry Mademoiselle to a weak-kneed fellow like Giraud?" "He is not a weak-kneed fellow," I interrupted, "and can sit a horse as well as any man in the county." "Life does not consist of sitting on horses." "And he has proved himself a brave soldier." "A man may be a brave soldier and make a poor fight of his life," persisted Turner. "Besides, it is against her will." "Against her will?" "Yes," said John Turner. "She wants to marry quite a different man." "That may be," answered I, "but it is none of my business. I have no influence with Mademoiselle, who is one of my enemies. I have many." "No--you haven't," said Turner, stoutly. "You have but one, and she is a clever one. Isabella Gayerson is a dangerous foe, my boy. She has poisoned the minds of Lucille and Alphonse against you. She has tried to do the same by the Vicomtesse, and failed. She encouraged and harboured Devar in order to annoy you. You and I start for Paris to-morrow afternoon. Take my advice and ride over to Little Corton to-morrow morning. See Isabella, and have it out with her. Talk to her as you would to a man. Life would be so much simpler if people would only recognise that sex is only a small part of it. Tell her you will see her d----d before you marry her, or words to that effect. It is all a matter of vanity or money. I'm going to bed. Good-night. My apologies to the ladies." He took his candle, and left me with half a cigar to smoke. I was up betimes the next morning, and set off on horseback through the quiet lanes soon after breakfast. Little Corton stands a mile inland, and two miles nearer to Lowestoft than the old Manor House of Hopton. Between the houses there is little pasture land, and I rode through fresh green corn with the dew still on it. The larks--and they are nowhere so numerous as on our sea-bound uplands--were singing a blithe chorus. The world was indeed happy that May morning. The sight of the homely red walls of Little Corton nestling among the elms brought to my mind a hundred memories of the past days, wherein Isabella's parents had ever accorded a welcome to myself--a muddy-booted boy then, with but an evil reputation in the country-side.