I fell flat on my back and spread out my arms. "Oh, Mademoiselle!" I cried reproachfully. "Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Marie. And he fell flat on his back, and spread out his arms and moaned. He was a good brother, was Marie, and obedient. And Croisette cried, "Oh, mademoiselle!" too. But he was always ridiculous in his ways. He fell flat on his back, and flopped his arms and squealed like a pig. Yet he was sharp. It was he who first remembered our duty, and went to Catherine, cap in hand, where she sat half angry and half confused, and said with a fine redness in his cheeks, "Mademoiselle de Caylus, our cousin, we give you joy, and wish you long life; and are your servants, and the good friends and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as--" But I could not stand that. "Not so fast, St. Croix de Caylus" I said, pushing him aside--he was ever getting before me in those days--and taking his place. Then with my best bow I began, "Mademoiselle, we give you joy and long life, and are your servants and the good friends and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as--as--" "As becomes the cadets of your house," suggested Croisette, softly. "As becomes the cadets of your house," I repeated. And then Catherine stood up and made me a low bow and we all kissed her hand in turn, beginning with me and ending with Croisette, as was becoming. Afterwards Catherine threw her handkerchief over her face--she was crying--and we three sat down, Turkish fashion, just where we were, and said "Oh, Kit!" very softly. But presently Croisette had something to add. "What will the Wolf say?" he whispered to me. "Ah! To be sure!" I exclaimed aloud. I had been thinking of myself before; but this opened quite another window. "What will the Vidame say, Kit?" She dropped her kerchief from her face, and turned so pale that I was sorry I had spoken--apart from the kick Croisette gave me. "Is M. de Bezers at his house?" she asked anxiously. "Yes," Croisette answered. "He came in last night from St. Antonin, with very small attendance." The news seemed to set her fears at rest instead of augmenting them as I should have expected. I suppose they were rather for Louis de Pavannes, than for herself. Not unnaturally, too, for even the Wolf could scarcely have found it in his heart to hurt our cousin. Her slight willowy figure, her pale oval face and gentle brown eyes, her pleasant voice, her kindness, seemed to us boys and in those days, to sum up all that was womanly. We could not remember, not even Croisette the youngest of us--who was seventeen, a year junior to Marie and myself--we were twins--the time when we had not been in love with her.