It was strange to me, coming down to breakfast, to find Yvon unchanged, his own gay self simply. I was grown suddenly so old, he seemed no more than a child to me, with his bits of song that yesterday I had joined in with a light heart, and his plans for another day of pleasure, like yesterday and all the days. Looking at him, I could have laughed, had there been any laughter in me, at the thought of his aunt that I had come over with a view to bettering myself at his expense. It seemed a thing of so little moment; I had half a mind to tell him, but held my peace, wishing her really no evil, since what she had done had been through love and care for her own. There might be such men as she had thought me; I have since found that there are indeed. Yvon was full of plans; we were to ride this afternoon, to such and such a place; it was the finest view in the country, there was nothing to approach it. Pierre should drive over and meet us there, with peaches, and cream, and cakes, and we would sup, we three together, and come home by moonlight. It would be the very thing! if I really could hold the bridle? it was the very thing to remove the recollection of last night from his sister's mind, impressionable, as youth always is. (He said this, Melody, with an air of seventy years, and wisdom ineffable, that was comical enough.) "From my own mind," he cried, "never shall the impression be effaced. Thy heroism, my Jacques, shall be inscribed in the annals of our houses. To save the life of a Demoiselle de Ste. Valerie is claim sufficient for undying remembrance; to save the life of my sister, my Valerie,--and you her saviour, the friend of my heart,--the combination is perfect; it is ideal. I shall compose a poem, Jacques; I have already begun it. '_Ciel d'argent_--' you shall hear it when it has progressed a little farther; at present it is in embryo merely." He sent for his sister, that they might arrange their plans before she passed to her lessons, which were strictly kept up. She came, and my heart spoke loud, telling me that all my vigil had brought to me was true, and that I must begone. There was a new softness in her sweet eyes, a tone in her voice,--oh, it was always kind,--but now a tenderness that I must not hear. She would see my hands; could not believe that I was not seriously wounded; vowed that her aunt was a magician; "though I prayed long, long, last night, monsieur, that the wounds might heal quickly. They are really--no! look, Yvon! look! these terrible blisters! but, they are frightful, M. D'Arthenay. You--surely you should not have left your room, in this condition?" Not only this, I assured her, but I was so entirely well that I hoped to ride with them this afternoon, if the matter could be arranged. She listened with delight while Yvon detailed his plan; presently her face fell a little.