I know it is the custom in certain circles in the great cities to sneer at all this--to seek love anywhere but in the family circle; but we of the provinces are not like that. Do not think it. We live closer to the heart of things--closer to nature, closer to each other, closer to the good God--and I think we are sounder at core. “But I had a message saying you were ill,” he continued. “You did not send it, then?” “No; but I bless the sender since it has brought you back to me.” “And not alone,” he added, remembering my presence. “Permit me to present to you, madame, M. de Tavernay. I began by stealing his horse and ended by gaining his friendship. Be kind to him. Monsieur, this is my wife, Madame la Comtesse de Favras.” She held out her hand to me with a charming smile, but her eyes and thoughts were only for her husband, nor could I find it in my heart to blame her, for, beside him, I was so crude, so ordinary, worth scarcely a passing glance. Indeed, I was myself somewhat confused at the revelation of my friend’s distinguished title and bowed over her hand awkwardly enough. “You are welcome, monsieur,” she said. “At dinner we must hear the story of these adventures. You have no doubt been all day in the saddle--you need rest, refreshment. Come--but first you must meet my guest;” and she led the way toward the terrace where her companion awaited us. “What fortune!” cried M. le Comte, as he sprang up the steps, and in another moment he was kissing the cheek of a lady, young, divinely fair, as I saw in the single glance I dared take at her, who blushed most becomingly as she received his salute. “My dear,” he added, “this is M. de Tavernay. I have already asked Madame la Comtesse to be kind to him. With you, I can only beg that you will not be cruel. M. de Tavernay, this is Mlle. de Chambray, who permits you to kiss her hand.” As I bowed before her and touched her fingers with lips not wholly steady, I was suddenly conscious of the dust and travel-stains which covered me, head to foot. She would think me ridiculous, no doubt; but when I summoned courage to glance up at her, I was astonished to see that her face was scarlet, and that she was staring at me with startled eyes. Then she withdrew her hand and turned hastily away, her shoulders shaking convulsively, and I felt my own cheeks grow red. Luckily our friends were too engrossed in each other to perceive this bit of comedy--or perhaps tragedy would, from my standpoint, be the better word. A moment later, my ears still burning, I stalked stiffly away after the man to whom I had been entrusted, through a vestibule, up a wide flight of stairs, and into a spacious room overlooking the gardens at the back of the house. “Dinner is at eight,” said the man. “If there is anything monsieur requires he will ring the bell yonder;” and after unstrapping my portmanteau and glancing around to assure himself that everything was right, he left the room and closed the door behind him.