“I must run back, for it is time for Proté to dress me for supper. We are going to have it outdoors to-night as a treat.” Marie Josephine looked wistfully at Jean as she spoke. She would have so enjoyed his company at the evening meal under the stars, out on the wide terrace, but Jean did not seem to be at all envious of the outdoor supper at Les Vignes. “You are to come to see us to-night, Dian. You shall have some of the new fig jam,” Jean called over his shoulder to the shepherd. Then as he went on through the wood with Marie Josephine he said happily: “Mother will set the little table out under the big pine by the red well if I ask her to!” “You will have a picnic, too, and I would rather go to it than to ours. Good-bye, Jean, until to-morrow.” Marie Josephine was off like a flash toward the great house which loomed before them as they made a sudden turning in the wood path. She ran in at the stone lion-guarded entrance door, up a great flight of stone stairs, and into a big room on the right at the top of the stairs. Proté stood by the window looking out, but on seeing her little charge she came forward hurriedly. “Martin says supper must be early because of the nights getting cold. It was Madame le Pont’s order. You must wear something warm over your frock. That was her order, too.” While she spoke Proté brushed out Marie Josephine’s curls in front of a long, gilded mirror which hung back of the dressing table. There were two silver candleholders which held lighted candles, one on each side of the glass. Marie Josephine smiled at Proté’s face in the mirror. “I’ll wear Great-aunt Hortense’s shawl, you know the one she gave me to keep until I’m grown-up. Let’s talk about the bal masqué, Proté. Wasn’t it splendid of Rosanne to come for me that way with Gonfleur! I want to see Rosanne. I’ve so many things to tell her!” “It may be, Little Mademoiselle, that she will have a great many things to tell you!” Proté’s round face looked solemn as she spoke. Marie Josephine looked at her more seriously in the looking-glass. “Yes,” she answered slowly. “Yes, of course, I suppose she will. She is in Paris. Doesn’t it seem strange, Proté, when it’s so sweet and quiet here in Pigeon Valley, to think of Paris?” Proté shrugged her shoulders and raised both hands, hairbrush and all. “It is best not to think of it at all,” she said. “I must think of it, Proté. Maman is there and Lisle. Do you think Neville will come in a few days, Proté? Do say that you do!” “God grant it, Little Mademoiselle!” Proté answered. They all smiled at Marie Josephine when she appeared ready for the outdoor supper with Great-aunt Hortense’s shawl over her white dress. It was a scarlet crêpe shawl, heavily embroidered in white fleur de lys, and it was so long that it almost completely covered her. She threw one end of it around her shoulder and walked majestically down the terrace steps.