I turned westward along the street, unheeding the curious glances cast at me, with a conscience not wholly at peace. I had secured these generous provisions under false pretenses. I had not merited those pure kisses. CHAPTER XXII. THE PONIARD AGAIN. NOT until a turn of the road hid me from the village and I was satisfied that I was unobserved did I turn aside and, again sheltering myself behind a friendly hedge, gain the thicket which stretched along the ridge. Then plunging into its cover I hastened back with what speed I could toward the spot where I had left my comrade, uneasily conscious that I had lingered at the inn longer than I had thought to do, for the sun told me that noon had come and gone. So it was with an anxiety which increased at every step that I broke my way through the underbrush, unheeding the briers which clutched at my clothes and stung hands and face--an anxiety which leaped to mortal anguish as I came out suddenly into the little amphitheatre where I had left her and saw at a glance that it was empty. I set down the hamper with a groan of agony and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. Fool!--idiot that I was to leave her unguarded for so long a time! Some one had blundered into our retreat, had discovered her, had taken her prisoner. This thicket doubtless harbored many scoundrels seeking to evade the draft. Perhaps even at this moment---- “Good-day, M. de Tavernay,” called a gay voice; and I turned my head mechanically, to see her emerging from the thicket, her face alight. “So you have returned!” “Thank God!” I cried. “Thank God! You are safe, then!” “Safe?” she repeated, eyeing me a little curiously. “But certainly! What did you imagine?” “I feared you had been captured,” I answered hoarsely. “Carried away! No matter, since you are safe.” “I heard some one approaching,” she explained, still eyeing me, “and decided I would better conceal myself until I was certain it was you. That was wise, wasn’t it?” “Wise? Oh, yes! But I thought I had lost you! I had stayed away so long.” “And in truth,” she went on, laughing again, “I am not yet quite certain that it is really you. What a villainous countenance!” “Yes,” I said, flushing. “The--the girl at the inn fixed it for me.” “So!” she cried. “It was a girl that kept you--and pretty, I’ll be bound! To think that I have been worrying about you!” “You must be nearly starved,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “I confess a lively pleasure at the sight of that hamper. May I explore it?” “At once,” I urged, and sat down a little weakly, for I was not yet wholly recovered from the swift reaction from that agony of fear. She spread upon the grass the cloth with which the hamper was covered and uttered little cries of delight as she drew forth its contents and arranged them before her.