"Oh no, no! How can you say so? I have been very foolish sometimes." . . . She came back towards me. "If I am wiser I am also happier," she added. In that moment we understood each other; that is, I read how unselfish this girl could be, and she knew thoroughly the source of my anxiety, and was glad that she could remove it. "I would not speak to any one save you," she said, "but do you not also think that it is good we go?" "I have been thinking so, but I hesitated to say so," was my reply. "You need not hesitate," she said earnestly. "We have both understood, and I know that you are to be trusted." "Not always," I said, remembering that one experience of mine with Mrs. Falchion on the 'Fulvia'. Holding the back of a chair, and looking earnestly at me, she continued: "Once, on the vessel, you remember, in a hint so very little, I made it appear that madame was selfish. . . . I am sorry. Her heart was asleep. Now, it is awake. She is unselfish. The accident of our going away is hers. She goes to leave peace behind." "I am most glad," said I. "And you think there will be peace?" "Surely, since this has come, that will come also." "And you--Mademoiselle?" I should not have asked that question had I known more of the world. It was tactless and unkind. "For me it is no matter at all. I do not come in anywhere. As I said, I am happy." And turning quickly, yet not so quickly but that I saw her cheeks were flushed, she passed out of the room. In a moment Mrs. Falchion entered. There was something new in her carriage, in her person. She came towards me, held out her hand, and said, with the same old half-quizzical tone: "Have you, with your unerring instinct, guessed that I was leaving, and so come to say good-bye?" "You credit me too highly. No, I came to see you because I had an inclination. I did not guess that you were going until Miss Caron told me." "An inclination to see me is not your usual instinct, is it? Was it some special impulse, based on a scientific calculation--at which, I suppose, you are an adeptor curiosity? Or had it a purpose? Or were you bored, and therefore sought the most startling experience you could conceive?" She deftly rearranged some flowers in a jar. "I can plead innocence of all directly; I am guilty of all indirectly: I was impelled to come. I reasoned--if that is scientific--on what I should say if I did come, knowing how inclined I was to--" "To get beyond my depth," she interrupted, and she motioned me to a chair. "Well, let it be so," said I. "I was curious to know what kept you in this sylvan, and I fear, to you, half-barbaric spot. I was bored with myself; and I had some purpose in coming, or I should not have had the impulse." She was leaning back in her chair easily, not languidly. She seemed reposeful, yet alert.