Then he took his captive by the lapels of his coat. “Monsieur, or Edouard,” said he, “this is the one spot within the compass of the nations where a man is entirely welcome for himself so long as he is it. Here we throw off every unnatural restriction, say what we will, do what we will--provided no evil consequence is entailed thereby. We are the club of ‘Nature’s Gentry,’ founded upon and governed by that solitary comprehensive rule. We neither give nor take offence, for where absolute freedom of speech is permitted all may be said that there is to say. Cast from the prohibitions of conventions, truthful beyond conceits, we restrain ourselves in nothing that is of happy impulse, deny ourselves no indulgence but that of doing hurt to our neighbour.” “Basile has spoken,” said Théroigne in her full voice; “Basile is very great! And thou, thou tall staidness, come and pay thy homage to Nature’s queen.” Ned turned swiftly, walked up to the girl, and kissed her cheek. “What the devil!” cried St Denys hoarsely. “Have I done hurt to my neighbour?” said Ned, facing round. The Belgian laughed on a false note. “You are immense,” said he. “The brotherhood takes you to its heart. See that you, on your part, resent nothing.” He turned, with rather a frowning brow, to the table. Théroigne, flushed but unabashed by the Englishman’s boldness, watched her predial lord covertly. “A small gathering to-night,” he said; “but what of that when the Queen presides?” He fancied himself conscious of a new startled intelligence in the eyes of two, at least, of his company. This stranger (the look expressed), how had he appropriated to himself what they had never dreamed but to respect as unattainable? Truly it had been for him to rightly interpret to them their own law. St Denys stamped his foot impatiently. “Why do you blink here like moping owls?” he said. “The air is balm; the moon walks up the sky; there is not a bank but breathes out a sweet invitation.” They bustled to their feet at his words. One man pulled from under the table a hamper loaded with wine-flasks and horns. “We revel in the open,” said St Denys to Ned. “We give our words flight, like fairies, under the stars. Nothing remains to rankle, or to generate mischief, as in the close atmosphere of rooms.” “Very well,” said Ned, “the open for me;” and he stepped out, accompanied by three others, into the sweet-blown wood. The moment he found himself alone with her, St Denys turned upon Théroigne. “Mademoiselle coquette,” said he, showing his teeth, “I could very easily strike you on the face!” “And why?” she said quietly, her eyes glittering at him. “Oh! do you not understand?” “Little mother of God!” she cried low, her nostrils dilating, “but here is a consistent president! Did not the stranger conform to rule? Would you have had me give you the lie by repulsing him?”