Recalled to material things, Etienne Rambert contemplated his trunk which the porters had taken out of the luggage van. "Good Lord!" he began, but Thérèse interrupted him. "Grandmamma said she would send for your heavy luggage during the morning, and that you could take your valise and any small parcels with us in the brougham." "What's that? Your grandmamma has taken the trouble to send her carriage?" "It's a long way to Beaulieu, you know," Thérèse replied. "Ask Charles if it isn't. We came on foot and the walk would be too tiring for you after a whole night in the train." The three had reached the station yard, and Thérèse stopped in surprise. "Why, how's that?" she exclaimed; "the carriage is not here. And yet Jean was beginning to get it ready when we left the château." M. Etienne Rambert was resting one hand on his son's shoulder, and contemplating him with an affectionate, all-embracing survey every now and then. He smiled at Thérèse. "He may have been delayed, dear. I tell you what we will do. Since your grandmamma is going to send for my luggage there is no need for me to take my valise; we can leave everything in the cloak-room and start for the château on foot; if my memory serves me right--and it is a very good memory--there is only one road, so we shall meet Jean and can get into the carriage on the way." A few minutes later all three set out on the road to Beaulieu. M. Rambert walked between the two young people; he had gallantly offered his arm to Thérèse, who was not a little proud of the attention, which proved to her mind that she was now regarded as a grown-up young lady. On the other side of his father Charles made answer to the incessant questions put to him. M. Etienne Rambert enjoyed the walk in the quiet morning through the peaceful country-side. With a tender half-melancholy he recognised every turn in the road, every bit of scenery. "Just fancy my coming back here at sixty years of age, with a great son of eighteen!" he said with a laugh. "And I remember as if it were yesterday the good times I have had at the château of Beaulieu. Mme. de Langrune and I will have plenty of memories to talk over. Gad! it must be quite forty years since I came this way, and yet I remember every bit of it. Say, Thérèse, isn't it the fact that we shall see the front of the château directly we have passed this little copse?" "Quite true," the girl answered with a laugh. "You know the country very well, sir." "Yes," said Etienne Rambert; "when one gets to my age, little Thérèse, one always does remember the happy days of one's youth; one remembers recent events much less distinctly. Most likely that means, my dear, that the human heart declines to grow old and refuses to preserve any but pictures of childhood." * * * * *