These thoughts lasted all the time they were driving through the narrow and dingy streets of Clermont-Ferrand, and she fancied that the lava built houses seemed to frown upon her and to assure her that she was an unwelcome visitor. Before long however they had left the town behind them and were driving through the most beautiful country, and in that sunny smiling landscape it was impossible to give way to anxious thoughts. The glowing colours of the autumn leaves, the picturesque vineyards, the river with its gleaming water reflecting the blue sky, and the strange irregular mountains which rose on every hand filled her with delight. The sun had set when at length they reached a narrower and more secluded valley; Evereld fancied they must be getting near to Mabillon and inquired of her driver. “It is two kilometres to the chateau,” said the Auvergnat. Then after a few minutes he again turned round from the box seat. “Madame Magnay and her daughter are down at the mill yonder,” he said. “Oh, stop then, and let me speak to them,” said Evereld eagerly; and springing from the carriage she hastened towards Aimée who quickly perceived her and ran forward with a cry of joyful astonishment. “This is a delightful surprise. Are you travelling back through France? Mother, you remember Evereld?” Mrs. Magnay gave her a charming greeting, containing all the warmth and animation which English greetings so often lack. “I remember Evereld very well, and am more delighted than I can say to welcome her to my dear old home.” “You are very good,” said Evereld shyly, “I have come to you because I was in great trouble, and I thought--I felt sure--you would help and advise me. It is impossible for me to stay longer with Sir Matthew Mactavish.” Her eyes were full of tears, and Mrs. Magnay taking her hand began to lead her towards the carriage. “You are quite tired out, poor child,” she said caressingly. “We are very sorry for your trouble, but very glad that it brought you to Mabillon. This evening you shall tell us all about it. Do you see that pretty girl waving her hand to us from the cottage door? That is my dear old Javotte’s granddaughter. Aimée has told you how she starved herself in the siege of Paris that we might have food enough. Dear old woman!” “And here is one of the best views of Mont D’Or,” said Aimée, “only the light is fading so fast you can’t properly see it.” Chatting thus, they soon reached the old château, a great part of which had now been carefully restored, and Mrs. Magnay seeing how pale and worn her guest looked, determined to take her straight upstairs. “Run Aimée,” she said, “and tell your father to settle with the driver, and then bring a cup of tea for Evereld. I shall take her to Bride’s room, she will be more snug in there I think.”