“Pardon me, M. le Vicomte,” she said, her fair face flushed with merriment and her beautiful eyes dancing, “but oh, mademoiselle, look--look at his feet!” I looked down with a feeling of utter helplessness, and to my consternation saw that mademoiselle’s petticoat came only half-way between knee and ankle, and my booted and spurred feet were in evidence below the too scanty skirt. Even mademoiselle laughed as she realized the effect of my figure, but she was quicker in conceiving a remedy than she had been in contriving an escape. The old woman approached me with the air of a mother about to adjust the clothing of a child, and with a few dexterous touches managed to loosen strings and fasten with pins until the skirt fell over my feet; and, at Zénaïde’s suggestion, she removed my spurs. Then muffling my face in a veil and adjusting my hood, with the air of bestowing a benediction upon the enterprise, Mademoiselle Eudoxie finally handed me over to her pupil’s guidance, while she retired, to remain in concealment until the successful execution of our plot. Left alone with Zénaïde, I secretly fumed at my absurd appearance, and the necessity for caution. Here was my first opportunity to talk alone to the object of my devotion, and I was absurdly dressed in an old woman’s mantle and petticoat and half suffocated with this atrocity of a veil. I began to realize the difficulties which beset a woman, and to admire the intrepidity of spirit that can not only endure such garments, but do more than that,--resemble an angel in them! Whether or not Zénaïde appreciated my misery I am not sure, but she had sufficient forbearance to restrain her mirth and reply to my remarks with suitable gravity, although more than once I fancied that I saw a gleam of mischief in the blue eyes as they rested upon me. Her manner was demureness itself, and she conducted me through the anteroom and along the hall without a word. As we were descending the stairs, we encountered two servant-maids coming up, and Zénaïde explained to them that Mademoiselle Eudoxie was indisposed and was going to the doctor’s. I noticed that they both regarded me with a slightly bewildered air; but my fair guide passed them as if they were not worth a thought, and I followed as well as I could, but found my petticoats even more difficult to manage than I had supposed. When we reached the lower floor, Zénaïde led me into a small room to await the arrival of the carriage, and going to an escritoire in the corner, she took out a pistol, and after a glance at it, handed it to me. “It may be that you will have need of it, M. le Vicomte,” she said gravely. “It is loaded; conceal it under your cloak.” “Is it yours, mademoiselle?” I asked quickly, for something in her manner made me divine the truth. She bowed her head in assent. “It was my father’s; he brought the two from France.” I pressed it back, but she waved her hand. “Keep it, monsieur,” she said simply, “I have the mate.”