The run had been a very fast one, but both Claudia and Stanislas were among the few in at the finish. As many of the hunters jogged homeward along the Daventry road, the Grand-Duke managed to take up his position by the side of the beautiful woman whom he so greatly admired. Stanislas, who was an excellent rider, had left his equerry far behind in the mad race across hedges, ditches, stubble and ploughed land. Somewhat bespattered by mud, he sat his horse with perfect ease and with almost imperial dignity. To the casual observer there was nothing to distinguish him from any of the other hunters, for in his well-worn riding-breeches, gaiters and black coat his appearance was devoid of that elegance which had distinguished him in London society, and he looked more like a country squire than the son of an emperor. They were descending the slope towards a small hamlet of thatched cottages, when of a sudden he drew his horse closer to hers and, turning to her, exclaimed in English of rather a pleasant accent: "Madame is, I fear, fatigued--of my company?" "Oh dear no," she laughed, turning her fine dark eyes mischievously towards him. "Why should I be? When you are so self-sacrificing as to leave Muriel Mortimer to Captain Graydon's charge and ride with me, I surely ought not to complain." "Why do you speak of Mam'zelle Mortimer?" he asked, at once grown serious. "Because you have been flirting with her outrageously all day. You can't deny it," she declared, turning to him in her saddle. "I was merely pleasant to her," he admitted. "But you English declare that a man is a flirt if he merely extends the most commonplace courtesies to a woman. It is so different in other countries." "Yes," she laughed. "Here, in England, woman is fortunately respected, but it is not so on the Continent." "I trust that madame has not found me indiscreet," he said earnestly. "If I have been, I must crave forgiveness, because I am so unused to English manners." "I don't think any one need blame you for indiscretion, providing that Muriel does not object." "Object? I do not follow you," he said. "Well, she may object to her name being bandied about as a woman with whom you are carrying on an open flirtation." "You appear to blame me for common civility to her," he observed. "I cannot, somehow, understand madame of late. She has so changed." "Yes," she answered with a bitter smile; "I have grown older--and wiser." "Wisdom always adds charm to a woman," he replied, endeavouring to turn her sarcasm into a compliment. "And age commands respect," she answered. He laughed uneasily, for he knew well her quick and clever repartee. "I have been wishing to have a word with madame for a long time," he said, at last breaking a silence that had fallen between them. "You have pointedly avoided me for several weeks. Have I given you offence? If so, I beg a thousand pardons."