La Vireville, followed by Anne, went up behind her and stooped over her. "Reconsider your decision, petite maman, I pray you," he said softly. "A man is hungry after the sea, and there are two of us----" The reticule in the lady's other hand went to earth as she turned and grasped his arm. "Fortuné! Mon fils! Dieu soit loué! But I expected you days ago! I have been in torment that you came not. Where have you been--and ah, my God, what have you done to your head?" The little white hands went fluttering over him as if they must assure themselves that he was really there. He was so much taller than she that to meet her upturned face with its delicate cheeks and young eyes he had to stoop a long way. The kiss was given and returned among the stalls with that candour of the Latin races, the testimony of whose emotions is not confined to withindoors, and it is probable that for Mme. de la Vireville at that moment, if not for her son, the market-place did not exist. And being half French itself, it looked on with sympathy. But the man at least remembered the existence of someone else, and while those fingers were still stroking his arm and the soft voice was yet asking him questions, he caught hold of his mother's hand. "You want to know where I have been, ma mère? I have been in France with a travelling companion, whose acquaintance you must now make. Here he is." Mme. de la Vireville, still under the sway of emotion, turned, looking for something of the size of her son. So at first she saw no one. Then she gave an exclamation. "Anne, let me present you to my mother. Ma mère, this is the Comte Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny. We will tell you our adventures presently; but just now I fancy that M. le Comte is hungry." "The little angel!" murmured Mme. de la Vireville, and this time it was she who had to stoop. "He shall come home with us at once, le cher petit." And Anne finished his journey, therefore, holding a hand of each. (2)