If any one had informed Henri d'Estreville on the morning when, departing for the war, he took a somewhat affectionate farewell of Louise Dupré, that his strange sensation of particular tenderness for the girl would not only prove an abiding sensation, but would actually develop into something remarkably like the tender passion itself, and that without any further communication, meanwhile, with the object of his affection, he would have laughed the idea to scorn. It was not in accordance with Henri's temperament that his heart should linger over soft recollections of charms which his eyes no longer beheld. If Chloe were absent, Phyllis, who was present, would fill her place excellently well. No woman had as yet proved herself essential to him. He took his pleasure from the society of the other sex where and when he found it, and this sufficed. But somehow the memory of Louise had lingered. Perhaps the combination of certain womanly qualities with her splendid skill and courage in manly exercises had impressed him. Certainly he had not forgotten her magnificent eyes, he often recalled these when his recollection of her other features had faded. Louise had made no secret of her preference for Henri over every other man of her acquaintance. That alone, however, would not have greatly attracted the Baron, for he was a favourite with the sex, and Louise was not the first who had been simple enough to lay bare to him her heart of hearts. "I am a fool," thought Henri; "but there is no doubt that I wish to see her. Perhaps the best medicine for my sickness will be to do so as soon as possible. Probably the first glance will disenchant me. I have somehow, and most foolishly, so embellished my recollections of her that I am remembering an ideality! The reality will soon set me right again!" Thus it was that one morning as old Pierre sat with his daughter Marie, Louise being absent with Karl Havet, a servant announced the Baron Henri d'Estreville. "Who is he?" said old Pierre, frowning; "I do not remember to have had a pupil of that name!" "Ask the Baron to wait a moment in the salon," said Marie. "Do you not remember, father?" she continued, laughing, when the servant had disappeared. "This is a very beautiful young man, and in one respect at least, unique as well." "Unique?" repeated Dupré; "and how so?" "In that he is the only male being who ever succeeded in causing our Louise an extra pulse-beat or two. Have you forgotten how she nearly lost her heart, and how distressed you were, just before her departure for the war?" "_Sapristi_--I remember the fool. What has he come for, think you?" "To seek Louise, doubtless. He will find that she is none the softer for her warfaring. I am not sorry she is from home, however, the sight of him might not be good for her, _mon père_. It would be a pity if her career were spoiled for the sake of a Henri d'Estreville, who, they say, is not too trustworthy."