“Very well, monsieur,” I agreed; and in another moment we had plunged among the trees. The soft earth of the wood, with its carpet of leaves, deadened the sound of our horses’ hoofs and we went on silently among the shadows for some time. Then we turned abruptly to the left, the wood opened, and again I saw the river gleaming before us. “There is the château,” he said suddenly, and following his gesture I saw a lofty tower rising above the trees. “That tower,” he added, smiling, “is my heritage from an amorous ancestor, who built it some hundreds of years ago to shelter a fair lady, whom a rival coveted. The tower was designed to withstand attack--and did withstand it--so the lady remained in our family and helped perpetuate it. That brave Marquis de Favras, who died so gallantly on the Place de Grève two years ago, belonged to that branch; so you see we have no reason to be ashamed of it, however irregular its origin. There is the modern wing,” he added, as we came out suddenly upon the road, “built by my father.” It was a handsome building of white stone, and as we approached it I saw two ladies strolling upon the terrace which ran across its front. At the gate, a man, swart and heavy-set, stood for a moment eyeing us. “Ah, Pasdeloup!” cried my companion; and at the word the man sprang to the gate and threw it back with a clang, his face beaming. “Alert as ever!” added his master, waved his hand to him and galloped past, while the other gazed after him with something very like adoration transfiguring his rough countenance. At the sound of our horses’ hoofs upon the gravelled road, the ladies turned and looked toward us. Then one of them flew down the steps, her hands outstretched, her face alight. “Madame!” cried my companion. “Madame!” and he threw himself from his horse and caught her to his heart. CHAPTER III. I FALL INTO A PLEASANT BONDAGE. “THEN you are not ill?” my friend was saying, as I dismounted and drew near. “You are not dying? Thank God for that!” “Ill?” echoed the lady. “Dying? Nonsense! Look at me!” “You are adorable!” he cried, and kissed the hands he held in his. “Sad I have been,” she went on, blushing but still gazing fondly up at him. “That was because you were away from me, in danger yonder. Yet I tried to be brave, for I knew that you were serving your country and that you would not forget me.” “Forget you!” he repeated; and my own heart warmed in sympathy as he gazed down at her, his eyes alight. Ah, here was no match prearranged no marriage of convenience, but a true mating. So true that there could be about it no false pride, no dissimulation or pretense of indifference; so true that it was still the lover talking to his mistress, as well as the husband talking to his wife.