That little army of fashion which daily takes the air of the Bois rarely begins its invasion through the Porte Dauphine before mid-afternoon, and so the long, lofty avenues of what was once the Foret de Rouvray and the Parc de St. Ouen were as yet almost deserted. Through the city streets and the Champs Elysees, Muriel and von Klausen had chatted in sporadic commonplaces, but when their open carriage, driven by a stolid coachman seated well ahead of his passengers, passed the Chinese Pavilions and turned to the left into the wide Route de Suresnes, a strained silence fell upon the pair. For fully ten minutes neither spoke, and then the horses slackened their pace upon the Carrefour du Bout des Lacs. "Shall we walk?" asked von Klausen. Muriel hesitated. "Why?" she enquired. "It is beautiful, the promenade here," explained von Klausen. "It is the most picturesque portion of the Bois, though none of the artificiality of the Bois well compares with the nature of my own country, which you have been good enough to visit." His words roused her antagonism. She experienced a perverse impulse to contradict him. She looked out at the Lac Inferieur, with its shaded banks and its twin islands, on one of which stood a little restaurant in imitation of a Swiss _chalet_. She was resolved to prefer this to his Austrian Tyrol, if for no better reason than that he claimed the Austrian Tyrol as his own. "I like these woods better than your mountains," she declared. "Better? But--why?" "Your mountains are too lonely and fierce. These woods are pleasant and inviting." "Good. We shall then accept their invitation," said von Klausen, smiling. He leaped out and offered her his hand. Muriel, acknowledging herself fairly caught, lightly touched his hand and descended. The Captain turned to the driver. "Meet us at the Cascade," he directed. There was another moment of silence as they began their walk along the undisturbed path. Then the Austrian turned to his companion. "I regret," he said, "that you are angry with me." Muriel raised her fine dark brows. "I am not angry with you." "Ah, yes, madame; you have been angry with me since we again met after your return from your visit to my country." "You are quite mistaken." She almost convinced herself while she said this, and her tone certainly should have carried conviction to her companion. "I assure you that you are entirely mistaken. Indeed, I have not been thinking much about you one way or the other." "I am sorry," said von Klausen. "That I am angry? But I tell you that I am not angry." "That you have been so angry as to banish me from your mind altogether." "Did you bring me here to tell me this?" asked Muriel. "Yes." She had scarcely expected him to acknowledge it. She glanced quickly at his blond, boyish face and saw that it was absolutely serene. "How dared you?" she gasped.