"How glad I am, my son," exclaimed Madame Bastien, clasping her hands, thankfully. "What if this should be the end of your malady, Frederick!" As the young mother made this gesture of thankfulness, the light silk mantle she was wearing slipped from her shoulders unnoticed either by her or by Frederick, who replied: "I don't know why it is, but I too hope like you, mother, that I shall soon be myself again." "Ah, if you too hope so, we are saved," exclaimed his mother, joyfully. "M. Dufour told me that this strange and distressing malady which has been troubling you often disappears as suddenly as it came, like a bad dream, and health returns as if by enchantment." "A dream!" exclaimed Frederick, looking at his mother with a strange expression on his face; "yes, mother, you are right. It was a bad dream." "What is the matter, my child? You seem greatly excited, but it is with pleasurable emotion. I know that by your face." "Yes, mother, yes! If you knew--" But Frederick did not have time to finish the sentence. A sound that was coming nearer and nearer, but that Marie and her son had not noticed before, made them both turn. A few yards behind them was a man on horseback, holding Madame Bastien's mantle in his hand. Checking his horse, which a servant who was in attendance upon him hastened forward to hold, the rider sprang lightly to the ground, and with his hat in one hand and the mantle in the other he advanced toward Madame Bastien, and bowing low, said, with perfect grace and courtesy of manner: "I saw this mantle slip from your shoulders, madame, and deem myself fortunate in being able to return it to you." Then with another low bow, having the good taste to thus evade Madame Bastien's thanks, the rider returned to his horse and vaulted into the saddle. As he passed Madame Bastien he deviated considerably from his course, keeping near a hedge that bordered the field, as if fearing the close proximity of his horse might alarm the lady, then bowed again, and continued on his way at a brisk trot. This young man, who was about Frederick's age, and who had a remarkably handsome face and distinguished bearing, had evinced so much grace of manner and politeness, that Madame Bastien innocently remarked to her son: "It is impossible to conceive of any one more polite or better bred, is it not, Frederick?" Just as Madame Bastien asked her son this question, a small groom in livery, who was following the horse-man, and who, like his master, was mounted upon a superb blooded horse, passed, the lad, who was evidently a strict observer of etiquette, having waited until his master was the prescribed twenty-five yards in advance of him before he moved from his place. Madame Bastien motioned him to stop. He did so. "Will you be kind enough to tell me your master's name?" asked the young woman. "M. le Marquis de Pont Brillant, madame," replied the groom, with a strong English accent.