It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if she was beautiful, but I choked the question back. It was indiscreet--and after all what did it matter? “They have been greatly worried at monsieur’s failure to appear,” he added. I almost groaned aloud. “M. de Benseval said he had been expecting me,” I murmured mechanically. “Oh, yes; for a week almost. He had made arrangements for the fête, but of course it was postponed when monsieur did not arrive.” “Postponed until when, Bertin?” I questioned. “It is to take place to-morrow if monsieur approves,” he answered, and glanced at me quickly. This time I could not wholly suppress the groan, but managed to change it into a cough. The end was nearer than I had thought. We rode on in silence after that, for I had no more questions to ask, nor apparently had Bertin any information to volunteer. And at last, just as dusk was falling, we trotted around a turn in the road and saw before us the walls and towers of Poitiers rising tier upon tier to the cathedral which crowns the summit of the hill upon which the town is built. It looked warm and gay in the rays of the setting sun, but darkness had fallen ere we crossed the bridge which leads into the town; and once engulfed in its narrow, steep, and tortuous streets, I had soon lost all sense of direction, and appreciated more than ever M. de Benseval’s thoughtfulness in sending me a guide. For my companion seemed to know the road perfectly, turned this way and that without hesitation, and at last drew rein before a house at whose door a torch was flaring. “Here we are,” he said, as he threw himself from the saddle and helped me to dismount. “This way, monsieur.” Scarcely had we set foot on the lowest step when the door burst open and a man appeared on the threshold--a man tall, of commanding presence, with the noblest countenance I had ever seen. “Tavernay!” he cried, his arms extended. “Tavernay!” And I, as though I had found a second father, sprang up the steps and threw myself into them. I know not how it was, but at the end of a moment I was telling myself that it was worth some sacrifice to be near a man like this. He led me in across the vestibule to the drawing-room beyond and sat me down and looked at me. “You are your father over again, my boy,” he said at last; and his face was very tender. “I see already that I am going to love you!” I could find no word of answer, but I think he read my heart in my face for he held out his hand and gripped mine.