on one of the lions' heads in which the legs of the table finished. The foot was beating up and down as if in unison with the impatience of Madame's thoughts, but I could see nothing of her face beyond its contour. She was, as usual, robed in black, wearing no jewels except a gold collar round her neck. For a moment I stood in silence, looking at her, half thinking that here was a chance to speak out what was in my heart, and then stilling the words by the thought of how impossible it was for a poor man to woo a rich woman. Through the open window I could see the woods, ruddy in their autumn foliage, and ever and again came the sound of cheerful voices, marking where the good people of Bidache were holding revelry in honour of their mistress' return. As I stood, hat in hand, Madame suddenly turned with a little start, and hastily concealed something as she caught sight of me. I went up at once, and she rose to meet me. 'I have come to say farewell, madame,' and I held out my hand. 'So soon,' she said, as she took it for a moment, her eyes not meeting mine. 'Yes--Paris is far--and it will be well for me to be there as quickly as possible.' 'Paris! You are surely not--' and she stopped. 'Why not, madame?' 'Oh! I don't know,' and hastily, 'one sometimes says things that don't exactly convey one's meaning. But I can imagine why you go to Paris--you are tired of Bidache, and pine for the great city.' 'It is not that; but,' and I pointed to the rolling woods and wide lands that spread before us, 'I have no responsibilities like these--and Auriac, which stands by the sea, takes care of itself--besides, I have my way to make as yet.' 'You have friends?' 'One at any rate, and that was restored to me by you,' and I glanced to the hilt of my sword. 'Man does not want a better; but you have another--here at Bidache, and I shall be in Paris soon, too, and--this place is dull. It kills me.' 'And yet you have not been here for three years--madame, are all the masques at the Louvre so attractive that you can desert your home, where your name is honoured as that of the King, for the follies of the court?' I spoke with some bitterness, for I was sore at what I had heard at dinner, and she glanced up at me in a slight surprise. Then her lips parted in a half smile. 'Chevalier, will you answer me a question or so?' 'Why not?' 'You like gaiety, cheerfulness, light, do you not?' 'Assuredly.' 'You sometimes amuse yourself by gaming, do you not--and losing more than you can afford?' I bowed in simple wonder. 'That friend of yours at your side has not been drawn only in battle, has it?'