"Yes--I ought to know better, I admit," answered I, rising and attending to the papers on the writing table, and I laughed without feeling very merry. I sat down and began mechanically to work. At all events, my conscience had won this time--and if the Vicomte pressed me to stay, he did so with full knowledge of the danger. The window was open. The Evil One prompted Lucille at that moment to break into one of those foolish little songs of Provence, and the ink dried on my pen. [Illustration: STANDING AMID THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS, LENDING TO THEIR PINK AND WHITE BLOOM A FACE AS FRESH AS ANY OF THE FLOWERS.] The Vicomte broke the silence that followed. "The ladies are going away for the winter months," he said. "They are going to Draguignan, in Var. At all events, stay with me until they return." "I cannot think why you ever took me." "An old man's fancy, mon cher. You will not forsake me." "No." Chapter VII In Provence "Autant d'amoureux, autant d'amours; chacun aime comme il est." The chateau of La Pauline stands at the head of the valley of the Nartubie in the department of Var, and looks down upon Draguignan, the capital of that division of France. La Pauline, and its surrounding lands formed the _dot_ of the Vicomtesse de Clericy, and the products of its rich terraces were of no small account in the family revenues. It was to this spot that Lucille and her mother repaired in the month of December. Not far away the Baron Giraud had his estate--the modern castle of "Mon Plaisir," with its little white turret, its porcelain bas-reliefs in brilliant colours let into the walls, its artificial gardens ornamented with gold and silver balls, and summer-houses of which the windows were glazed with playful fancy that outdid nature in clothing the prospect in the respective hues of spring, summer, autumn and winter.