The mill-stream had ceased to shudder and had resumed its song.... With an air of furtive preoccupation, Louis emerged from concealment and proceeded towards them after the manner of an unpopular Mexican President walking down the main street of an unfriendly city.... The darkening shadows blended with the early approach of night.... And her heart was beating wildly, joyously. Adventure had come to the lonely mill-house in Picardy--and, after all, one is not always sixteen. II "Will you please tell me where I am?" The young man spoke in French with ease, but more than a trace of an English accent. "This is my uncle's mill." "Of course. And that road?----" "But the village road, monsieur--what else?" "And, Mademoiselle Elusive, what village may it be?" "'Tis where the church is, monsieur; and every Sunday I go there to mass." The pilot produced a pipe and, extracting a pouch, proceeded to fill it with tobacco. "I am lost," he said complacently. "My compass was shot away, and the clouds are hanging too low for me to follow any landmarks." He looked about at the steadily thickening twilight. "How far is it to the village?" he asked. "Five kilometers--and a little better." "The Devil!" He made a screen from the wind with the flap of his coat, and lighting his pipe, puffed it with evident satisfaction. "I shall have to leave the old 'bus' here. As a matter of fact, she's so nearly 'napoo' that I rather expected to come riding home on one plane, like the old woman with the broom. But, mademoiselle----" "Monsieur?" "I am very tired and distinctly hungry, and I know of a mill-house with a cosy fire in the kitchen, where a pretty little fairy that----" "There is no fairy--only Louis." "And who the deuce may he be?" "The cat--_le voici!_" He surveyed the feline with an air of tolerant gravity. "Do you think Louis may object if I remain for supper?" "Ah--but no!" She laughed gaily, but a look of doubt changed the expression of her features in a moment. "But my uncle--he never has any one in the house. For many years I have lived alone with him. Only when the curé comes, perhaps once a month, does any one visit the mill. My uncle is very surly, a perfect bear, and often he gets drunk as well." The young man raised his absurdly light eyebrows. "A pleasant relative, mademoiselle. And, pray, what is his grievance against his fellowmen?" "I know not, monsieur. All week he works alone, except when he takes the flour to sell, but on Sundays he always goes to church and leads the chanting. He was taught Latin by his father, who was a gravedigger in Paris and learned it from the tombstones. So on Sundays my uncle, from his seat in the chancel, performs the chants in such a terrible voice that almost always some children scream with terror, and once Madame La Comtesse fainted." The aviator relit his pipe, which had gone out, but did not remove his eyes from hers.