"Well, you see," she dried her eyes on a handkerchief of costliest lace, "you see my--that is, the Duchess, is of such a romantic temperament, so enamoured of rural scenes, idyllic meadows, pretty shepherdesses, and the like--all the court makes merry at her foible. She thought to astonish Paris to-night by a lavish display of sweet simplicity--did Monsieur see it? That big dark place back there, behind the glass partition, was arranged as a meadow, with a stream winding through it, and rocks and trees, and what not. She had a flock of sheep washed clean and white, penned up and in waiting. At a signal from her during the ball, lights were to have been turned on, and Mademoiselle, the pretty opera singer, was to come gracefully down a curving pathway, dressed as a shepherdess, singing and leading her sheep. Oh, it was to be too pure for this earth. The Duchess fretted for the opportune time. But the sheep escaped from their keepers, and, oh, isn't it too ludicrous?" Thus she chattered on with the naive freedom of any other young demoiselle. I agreed with her, and was inwardly glad the affair turned out an accident, for were this the custom of balls I'd go to no others. We continued to chat gayly together; she was of a lively wit, and surprised me by her knowledge of dogs and horses, of the chase, of sword play and of firearms. Odd tastes for a gentlewoman, most of all for one of her exalted rank. Of this latter I had no doubt. I knew none of the people she mentioned, nothing of the drawing-room gossip, and she very naturally remarked. "My lord is a stranger?" "Only yesterday in Paris," I assented. "From what place comes my lord?" and for the second time in a day I was driven to a direct lie. "From Normandy," I replied. "To live in Paris?" "No, unfortunately; my affairs will be finished in a few days at most. Then I return to the country." The lady was pensive for a space, hesitated in a pretty perplexity and then spoke doubtfully. "You can be of a service to me if you will." I immediately signified my willingness to render her aid, in the courtliest speech I could muster. She looked at me long and seriously again, then again pursued the subject of her thought. "It is a mere woman's whim, but _I_ gratify _my_ whims. Perchance it is not a proper wish for a lady of birth, yet I have it, and if you will but aid me, I will carry it through." Moved as much by curiosity as by any other motive, I inquired of her what so weighty a matter could be. "Come, let us go into this ante-room that we may converse undisturbed," she said, and led me into a quiet corner where there were seats. I would have thoughtlessly taken a place by her side, forgetful of Jerome's teachings, but she commanded coldly: "Monsieur will stand." And I stood.