All the way home Esperance heard from Albert in detail all that had happened to him since she had last seen him. She talked incessantly, as if to drown her thoughts under a sea of nonsense. At the farm the young man could see the pleasure they all showed at his return. Of course he was somewhat astonished to learn that Maurice was absent with the Duchess, for he had not yet heard of the events that had happened during his absence. They all gathered together in the dining-room. The Count took out of his pocket a little case, and asking Esperance to give him her hand, slipped on to her middle finger a magnificent engagement ring. Somehow her hand went cold as death as Albert held it, and her face contracted strangely. "Do you regret your word already, Esperance?" he asked in a nervous, low voice. "No, no, Albert," she said quickly, nervously twisting the ring on her finger, "but this is a very serious moment, and you know that I incline to taking things seriously here," and she put her hand across her heart. Then she smiled, pressed his hand, and showed the ring to Genevieve. They all examined and admired the beautiful jewel. When the philosopher turned to praise it Albert had disappeared. The basket was opened revealing a bouquet of magnificent white orchids, marvellously fresh, held in a white scarf with embroidered ends. When they assembled for dinner an hour later Esperance was not present, and Albert began to look uneasy. But they had not long to wait, and when she did appear she was dressed all in white, an embroidered scarf fastened about her waist, and several orchids arranged like a coronet in her hair. At that moment she seemed almost supernaturally beautiful. "What a pity that Maurice is not here! You are so lovely this evening," said Genevieve. "Oh," said Esperance smiling, "that is not the only reason you regret his absence?" Next day they were surprised to get no word from the painter to tell them which boat he would take. It was warm and they had coffee served in the convolvulus bower. The breeze came through an opening from the sea. "Look! isn't that a pretty boat?" cried out Genevieve. A white yacht was sailing slowly towards Penhouet. The philosopher got his glasses. "It is the Princess's flag," he exclaimed. "Yes, yes," agreed Albert, "it is the Belgian flag. Listen, there is the salute." Jean ran to the farm, calling back, "I will answer it. All right, M. Darbois?" The flag sank and rose three times, then the yacht headed straight for the little bay. Genevieve climbed on a high rock and clapped her hands. "It is he, oh! it is he." She turned radiantly back to the party in the grove. Her "It is he" made Albert smile. It was so charming, so sincere that they all shared the quality of her joy. It was indeed Maurice returning on the Princess's yacht. The tide was so high that the boat could get quite close.