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 SUBSCRIPTION LIBRARY, 
 
 186, STRAND, LONDON, 
 AND AT THE RAILWAY BOOKSTALLS. 
 
 NOVELS are issued to and received fromJ>ubscriber« in SETS only. 
 
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 =38
 
 LIBRARY 
 OF THE 
 
 U NI VLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 82*> 
 -.1
 
 THE SUN-MAID.
 
 " Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam, 
 Im Norden auf kahler Hoh'. 
 Ihn schlixfert ; mit weiser Decke 
 Umhiillen ihn Eis und Schnee, 
 Er triiumt von einer Palme, 
 Die fern im Morgenland 
 Einsam und schweigend trauert 
 Auf brennender FeLsenwand."— H. Heine.
 
 TH E SU N-MAI D 
 
 31 Homana. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 "ARTISTE," "VICTOR LESCAR," 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 $Viblishtxz in ©riinarj) io %}tv ffitqzsXQ the (Qatm. 
 
 1876. 
 (All Eights reserved.)
 
 K i 
 
 (by permission.) 
 
 I OFFER 
 
 this book to 
 Her Serene Highness 
 
 THE PRINCESS AMELIA, OF SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIST, 
 
 AND 
 
 5 tobiatte it 
 
 to the pleasant memory of 
 
 winter evenings at 
 
 The Maison Casenave 
 
 some years ago. 
 
 ^ 
 
 >=
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. TERRESTRIAL PARADISE 1 
 
 II. DAYLIGHT - - - - -55 
 
 III. ST. HILAIRE - - - 91 
 
 IV. BY A LOG FIRE - 113 
 
 V. INCOGNITA- - - - 129 
 
 VI. CHRONIQUE SCANDALEUSE - 178 
 VII. COURT CARDS - - - - 199 
 
 VIII. THE PRINCESS OF THE CHALET - 230 
 
 IX. CROQUET ON THE COTEAUX - - 276
 
 THE SUN-MAID. 
 
 J^OO 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. 
 
 ( N that sunny corner where the 
 waves of the Bay of Biscay wash 
 over a sandy barrier and mingle 
 with the waters of the Bidassoa stream, they 
 tell the ancient story that a favoured mortal 
 won from the gods permission to ask three 
 blessings for Spain. 
 
 He asked that her daughters might be 
 beautiful, that her sons might be brave, and 
 that her government might be good. 
 vol. i. 1 
 
 ■
 
 2 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 The first two requests were granted — the 
 beauty of a Spanish woman is of world-wide 
 renown ; and if the men are rash, passionate, 
 and revengeful, at least they are brave — but 
 the last request was refused. 
 
 " Impossible !" was the answer, "impossible. 
 Already she is an earthly paradise, and were 
 this last blessing hers, the very gods them- 
 selves would desert Elysium, and go down to 
 dwell in Spain." 
 
 This description does not apply to the 
 whole of that country. There are long tracts 
 through which, the railroad passes from 
 Pampeluna to Madrid that are very dreary 
 and unbeauteous ; and there are dismal old 
 towns to be found, dirty and uninviting, which 
 suggest little of Paradise and much of earth- 
 
 If a wondering mythological god, with the 
 tastes which a Sybarite might impute to him, 
 were to come down to seek the Eden of Spain, 
 he would journey far — cross the passes of the 
 Sierra Morena, linger awhile on the genial
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 
 
 slopes between the snowy hills and the rush- 
 ing waters that surround Cordova, wander on 
 to Seville, the centre of soft Andalusia ; and 
 there, among the orange groves, inhaling the 
 scented atmosphere, listening to the silvery 
 murmur of the fountains, strolling in the 
 brilliant Calle de la Sierpe, lounging through 
 an evening in the glittering Alcazar, yielding 
 to the soft influence of the scene and its sur- 
 roundings, he might indeed exclaim, that the 
 ancient Eden of the poets was surely the 
 Andalusia of Spain. 
 
 So much for an old Sybarite deity and his 
 ideal of an Elysium. 
 
 But, to a northern nature — simple and 
 hardy — such ideas of Paradise are as unsym- 
 pathetic as the sugar-cakes and orange-water 
 a Spaniard offers by way of ordinary fare. 
 Neither the dolce far niente of Seville, nor 
 the Alameda of shadeless Cadiz, nor the 
 scented atmosphere of Cordova, forms indeed 
 to our minds the Paradise of Spain. 
 
 1-2
 
 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 There is another range of country,- — stretch- 
 ing across her northern boundaries, from the 
 stormy Atlantic to the sunny Mediterranean 
 shore — the land of the Basque and the Bear- 
 nais, of the hardy mountaineer, of the Spanish 
 remnant of the old Romany tribes. 
 
 Here, from La Rhun in the west to beyond 
 Le Fort in the orient, the Pyrenees rear their 
 mighty royal crests, snow- crowned in winter, 
 in summer wrapt in a sunshine radiant and 
 glorious as the gateway of heaven. Deep 
 valleys, green and fertile, nestle in the moun- 
 tains ; dancing waterfalls and sparkling 
 streams rush through their gorges and down 
 their rocky sides. 
 
 The climate is temperate, the soil is rich, the 
 harvest is plentiful, and the peasant is content. 
 His life is easy, and he himself is frugal and 
 industrious; he is large of limb, and strong and 
 gentle, like the mild-eyed oxen who draw his 
 carts, help him to till his maize-fields, and 
 bear his purple vintage home.
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 
 
 And we, who love this land, call it a 
 ' Paradis Terrestre/ because life is fair in its 
 happy sunshine — it is beautiful, it is plentiful, 
 it is at peace. 
 
 Yet our paradise is terrestrial when all is 
 said ; and of this we are sometimes reminded 
 as we realise that it grows fair and green and 
 fertile, even only as other lands, beneath 
 " the gentle rain from heaven," and that if 
 many days of the year it is glad with radiant 
 sunshine, and smiling beneath a cloudless 
 sky, we cannot conscientiously assert that it 
 is always so. 
 
 Most particularly, it was not so, one evening 
 in the autumn days of a certain year, not 
 long ago, when the express train from Bor- 
 deaux travelled slowly along past Puyoo and 
 Orthez, glided below the w r oody ridge over- 
 hanging the river just opposite Jurancon, and 
 stopped at the station of Pau. 
 
 It was late, but there was no reason that it 
 should hurry itself just then. There were
 
 6 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 few passengers, the summer season of the 
 mountain-traveller was over, the winter sea- 
 son had not begun, and when the engine 
 puffed lesuirely up to the platform, a few 
 peasants returning from a day's work, a few 
 women laden with market-baskets and snowy 
 piles of new-washed linen, a fusty-looking 
 old personage with a large umbrella and a 
 pair of spectacles (evidently a "notary " who 
 had been making a will or drawing up a 
 marriage contract somewhere down the line), 
 a fat priest, and a single first-class passenger, 
 were the whole freight that, emerging from 
 the carriages, sent the train almost empty on 
 its way. 
 
 The peasant-labourers pulled their flat 
 bonnets close down on their foreheads, 
 shouldered their sticks and bundles, and 
 lounged out of the station, one by one. 
 
 The women chattered together in a noisy 
 patois, execrated the weather, tucked up 
 their petticoats, hoisted large cotton tents
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 
 
 over their heads, slung their big baskets 
 across their arms, and hurried away. 
 
 The old notaire picked his steps gingerly, 
 and, with much effusion and reverential saluta- 
 tion, offered half the protection of his umbrella 
 to the priest ; while the first-class passenger 
 plunged his hands deep into the pockets of a 
 huge overcoat, shivered, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, looked disconsolately about him, and 
 then, somebody's remark, or most probably 
 that story of the gods, passing at the moment 
 through his mind, he exclaimed, sotto voce : 
 
 "And this is what they call a Paradis 
 terrestre; I would sooner live in the Lincoln- 
 shire Fens !" 
 
 The remark was not inappropriate, neither 
 was the comparison it implied — a comparison 
 which revealed him at once to be of that re- 
 markable nation who grumble so much at the 
 weather at all seasons, and wherever they 
 go, that you really would imagine they had 
 something better at home — an Englishman.
 
 8 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 In fact, he could never have been mis- 
 taken for anything else. The whole make of 
 his figure — tall, straight, firm, expressing ease 
 and strength — was British. 
 
 The cut of his coat — which was made of 
 rough frieze, long and loose, reaching to his 
 heels, drawn up close over his ears — was 
 English likewise, and so was the colouring of 
 his brown hair and long moustache — all that 
 could be seen of him between the tweed stalk- 
 ing cap drawn over his eyes and the high collar 
 of his travelling coat. 
 
 It was not a becoming costume in which to 
 introduce a hero, but even in this attire you 
 could see that he was young and (as to 
 figure, at all events) well-looking; and if 
 you studied him critically, as one traveller 
 scans another upon a wet day on a wayside 
 platform, you might discern that at thi3 Pau 
 railway station he was not at all at home. 
 
 It was raining heavily — a steady unceasing 
 downpour ; the air was soft, but damp and
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 
 
 chillvo A curling mist lay thick over the 
 waters of the river just beyond the station, 
 a line of low undulating hills were barely 
 visible through the vapours on one side, and 
 on the other loomed high above him the 
 sombre ramparts of the old castle, and the 
 long row of hotels and villas that with their 
 sloping gardens front the valley, and form the 
 outer boundary of the town of Pau. 
 
 At his feet lay a leathern travelling-bag, 
 very English also. It suggested " Asprey," 
 with the initials G. S. E. in dim gold on the 
 outer flap ; from the side-pocket of his coat 
 protruded the silver top of a hunting-flask ; 
 and the fragrant smoke of a very good manilla 
 curled from his lips into the air. He looked 
 about him very disconsolately; the position was 
 unpleasant. He glanced at his bag ; he gazed 
 after the train that was gliding slowly away 
 into the mist ; he looked up and down the sta- 
 tion ; he emitted several British growls ; and 
 finally, catching sight of a trave] ling-case and
 
 10 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 a portmanteau disappearing through a distant 
 doorway on the shoulders of a man in blue 
 cotton trousers and shirt, he darted rapidly 
 down the platform, seized the portmanteau 
 with one hand, and collared the lithe little 
 porter with the other. 
 
 A volley of expostulation, indignant and 
 excitable, was the consequence, to which our 
 traveller replied with the word " Baggage/' 
 laying as much emphasis on the last syllable 
 by way of French accent as possible ; and point- 
 ing to the exit from the station (where a row of 
 cabs and carriages might be seen standing in 
 the rain), he gave the order in slow and very 
 careful but fairly grammatical French that 
 his luggage might be there conveyed. 
 
 Impossible ! In fiercer excitement than 
 ever, the little blue-shirted man was off again, 
 and far out of reach of apprehension imme- 
 diately. He was inexorable, and clung to the 
 portmanteau, till finally, in much wrath and 
 indignation, the young Englishman turned
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 1 1 
 
 from him, walked down the station, and in 
 at the door of the waiting-room, followed by 
 his luggage and its carrier, who vociferated 
 unceasingly unintelligible information about 
 baggage and tickets and offices, reiterating 
 regulations, all of which the traveller, if he 
 had ever known them, had forgotten long ago. 
 
 At the door of the waiting-room the little 
 porter, forbidden by rule to go farther, stood 
 gesticulating still, while a fat official rushed 
 up to our indignant friend, and exclaiming, 
 " Monsieur, pardon, but" — he pointed to a 
 placard on which was legibly inscribed, " Here 
 one smokes not," and at the same time po- 
 htely, but firmly, he indicated the cigar. 
 
 The young fellow drew himself up, and 
 turned upon the official with some haughti- 
 ness, and was just preparing in his mind a 
 fitting answer by which to express his sense 
 of offence and injured dignity, when there 
 ran suddenly into the station-room a small 
 man, hat in hand, neatly attired in a dark
 
 12 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 livery, out of breath — in fact, positively out 
 of himself with eagerness, fussiness, and 
 consequential haste. 
 
 His face beamed with excitement and 
 amiability, as he bowed low again and again, 
 and exclaimed, in what he evidently thought 
 was English : 
 
 " Mister Sare Geelbert ! a thousand weel- 
 komms ! a thousand pardons that I am not 
 here to you receive !" 
 
 " Hah, Baptiste, is it really you ? How 
 are you ? " and the young man turned from 
 the official to hold out his hand cordially to 
 his bowing and excited friend. " Here I am, 
 you see, turned up at last." 
 
 " Enchanted, Mister Sare Geelbert ! How 
 joyful will Madame la Marquise be, and Mon- 
 sieur le Vicomte Morton ! Ah, I have a 
 note — I must tell you — he is desolated, deso- 
 lated, and so is Monsieur le Marquis as well. 
 They could not come to-day to meet you, 
 but I am here to weelkomm you, Sare
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. , 13 
 
 Geelbert — see — and to-morrow the Messieurs 
 will drive you to the chateau themselves." 
 
 " Ah, then I do not go over to St. Hilaire 
 to-night ?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur. You will be fatigued — 
 you must rest — your long journey — the time, 
 the weather, I would say, defends it. You 
 will repose at the town hotel of the Martjuis 
 this evening, and to-morrow you will go to 
 St. Hilaire." 
 
 " Ah, very good ! But my luggage — " He 
 paused, removed his cigar, and turned in- 
 quiringly to the railway official, who had 
 stood silent and much astonished during Bap- 
 tiste's harangue. 
 
 The man bowed now ceremoniously to the 
 traveller, and was about to speak when the 
 fussy little Bearnais broke in again: 
 
 " Ah, your baggage, Sare Geelbert ! Be 
 tranquil — I charge myself. Pass, Monsieur, 
 pass out. I will be with you this instant. 
 Give me only your tickets, I will arrange
 
 14 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 all. Monsieur Dalon," lie added, in French, 
 turning to the official pompously, " let pass 
 this monsieur, Milor Sare Geelbert Erie, the 
 nephew of Madame la Marquise de St. 
 Hilaire." 
 
 The station-master responding, " Ah, per- 
 fectly," in the irrelevant manner in which the 
 nation use that word, smiled and bowed 
 benignly again, and " Sare Geelbert," pro- 
 ducing his tickets with a hearty laugh at 
 Baptiste's introduction, handed them to the 
 official, put his cigar into his mouth again, 
 and walked out to the station door. 
 
 He stood there waiting for the servant, 
 and again he shrugged his shoulders, and 
 mentally confessed the prospect to be dismal 
 in the extreme. 
 
 A steep bank rose close in front of him, 
 and on the height above towered some large 
 buildings scarcely to be distinguished in the 
 fog and gloom. 
 
 A long terrace of houses, standing apart
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 15 
 
 and independent of each other, stretched on 
 each side : on the one hand ending in the 
 turrets of the Castle, standing darkly against 
 the background of a ridge of wood ; on the 
 other lost in the wall of dense vapoury mist 
 that floated down the valley, and which filled 
 and obscured it. 
 
 There was no one to be seen on the steep 
 road that wound up to the terrace, and no 
 one at the station. He seemed the only tra- 
 veller : all the coaches had departed in despair, 
 and there was no population apparent. 
 
 So it seemed to him at first as he stood there; 
 but suddenly along a road that lay level with the 
 station, close to a narrow water-course, fringed 
 by two rows of trees, there came the tinkling 
 musical echo of a bell, and then emerged just 
 opposite to him an ox-cart, laden with great 
 piles of wood, and drawn slowly along by two 
 strong, gentle-] ooking, dun-coloured creatures 
 with long branching horns. They were led, 
 apparently (not driven), by a man who walked
 
 1 6 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 actively before them, touching their horns 
 lightly with a short wand from time to time. 
 His blue shirt, and a bit of crimson rug flung 
 over his huge beasts, made a bright bit of 
 colour in the gloomy scene, and altogether 
 they brought life and action into the prospect 
 as they passed the station, moving leisurely 
 along — a curious picturesque group. 
 
 They amused Sir Gilbert till Baptiste came 
 rushing out, laden with the travelling-bag 
 and wrappers, and with a countenance radiant 
 with complacency and importance. 
 
 "Now," he exclaimed, "will Monsieur 
 walk? It is but a step — but perhaps — ah, 
 it rains terribly ! Sare Geelbert will have a 
 coach." 
 
 " No, nonsense ; I will walk, Baptiste. 
 Never mind the rain — how do we go ? 
 Lead the way." 
 
 "Ah, well — this is the road. Francois 
 has the baggage, he will bring it safe. Now, 
 if you will permit, Monsieur ;" and with a stiff
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 17 
 
 little bow he walked on a few steps before, 
 while Sir Gilbert, with long easy strides, 
 followed leisurely behind him. 
 
 Baptiste was a short slight man, but he 
 augmented his stature as much as possible by 
 carrying his head (as became the confidential 
 servant of M. le Marquis de St. Hilaire) very 
 erect indeed, with his nose poised high in 
 the air. He wore a long frock-coat slightly 
 trimmed, just sufficiently to indicate the 
 family livery and colours. He had a high 
 stiff neckcloth and collar with sharp-pointed 
 gills that stuck up far above his ears. He 
 had black hair and dark heavy eyebrows. 
 His deep-set eyes had an honest look in them, 
 and an immense variety of expression besides 
 ■ — ready to flash with excitement and anger, 
 or to sparkle with fun. He had a queer little 
 mouth, which he was fond of shutting up with 
 an odd air of mystery and importance if you 
 asked him a simple question, and happened to 
 be in a hurry for the reply ; and the expres- 
 
 vol. i. 2
 
 18 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 sion meant that you would have to wait for 
 it. He was a true Bearnais in features ; and 
 his complexion was of that curious grey shady 
 colour peculiar to the men of his race. 
 
 He stepped out in front of Sir Gilbert with 
 much precision, with lips pursed up and nose 
 in air, as if deeply impressed with the im- 
 portance of his post and of the occasion ; and 
 as they wound up the hill he announced each 
 object they encountered, each house they 
 reached, with all the ceremony of an intro- 
 duction, and with the dignity of a chamber- 
 lain. 
 
 "The Establishment of the Baths," he said, 
 as they paused a moment at the first stage of 
 the steep incline. "And that is the beautiful 
 new Hotel de France above, Monsieur, here 
 to the right hand. And that is the top of 
 the Hotel Gassion on the left side, and 
 farther is the Chateau : and that is Jurancon 
 away across the Gave, and these are the ' 
 Coteaux — the low hills, I mean. Oh, I do
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 19 
 
 deplore the time that Sare Geelbert cannot 
 see the prospect, and the mountains and the 
 towers of St. Hilaire. But courage ! It will 
 pass, I assure you. Be not despairing, 
 Monsieur, — it will not endure." . . . ■ 
 
 " Then it does not rain here always— not 
 quite always — does it, Baptiste ?" 
 
 " But, Monsieur ! Sare Geelbert ! God 
 forbid ! no : be tranquil ; you will see. Are 
 you reposed ? You will be injured : it does 
 fall most terribly. Will you continue ? ; .Still 
 a little mount." 
 
 " I am ready. And they are all well, 
 Baptiste, at St. Hilaire? My uncle and 
 aunt, and the Vicomte and Madame my 
 cousin, they are all well ?" . . 
 
 "All perfectly," said Baptiste, still .airing 
 his English in persistent repression of Gilbert's 
 French. " Madame la Marquise and Monsieur 
 le Marquis are of most perfectly good health, 
 and Monsieur le Vicomte Morton is so also, 
 and likewise as well is Mademoiselle Jeanne 
 
 2-2
 
 20 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 de Yeuil, the most charming fiancee of 
 Monsieur le Yicomte Morton; and Madame 
 de la Garonne is with Monsieur her husband 
 at the Chateau de Val d'Oste, but she 
 comes, with her little ones, soon, very soon, 
 to see Sare Geelbert. Ah, Monsieur, they 
 are all joyful to receive you. But you are 
 changed indeed since I saw you ten years 
 ago; you remember, Monsieur, when I took in 
 charge the young Yicomte to Erie's Lynn T 
 
 "I remember. Ten years ago ! Is it really 
 so much ? You wear well, Baptiste : you 
 look as vounff as ever/' 
 
 " Ah, Sare Geelbert is amiable !" said 
 Baptiste complacently. "And," he continued, 
 lowering his voice as he turned round with 
 an odd expression of awe and increased 
 deference, "and miladi, the noble mother of 
 Sare Geelbert, the Lady Anna, is she well ?" 
 
 " Quite well, Baptiste. I hope to find 
 some letters from her : I missed them some- 
 how in Paris."
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 21 
 
 " There are letters/' answered Baptiste, 
 " in the apartments of Sare Geelbert." 
 
 " Ah, that is right ! Then we will go 
 on. 
 
 They wound up the steep hill a little 
 farther, and a few paces more brought them 
 to the Place Royale, a broad open space, that 
 stretched back from the edge of the terrace, 
 and was crossed at the farther end by the Rue 
 de Lycee, just where the narrow Rue St. Louis 
 turned up below the plate-glass windows of 
 La Fontaine's shop. 
 
 It formed part of the outer edge of the 
 boulevard that stretched far along below 
 and beyond the chateau to the entrance of 
 the old park. Baptiste paused again at this 
 point, partly to gain breath after his hasty 
 climb, chiefly to exclaim, " There, Monsieur I" 
 while with much pride and pomposity he 
 pointed across the foggy valley, then from 
 side to side towards the Cafe Bearnais and 
 the huge hotel, and finally to the statue of
 
 22 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Henri IY. which adorned the Place in the 
 centre, and stood out with much dignity and 
 effect between a double boulevard of autumnal- 
 tinted trees. 
 
 Sir Gilbert sauntered up to the foot of 
 the statue, and looked up with some interest 
 at the handsome rugged face; then the ring of 
 Macaulay's ballad came back to his mind, and 
 he was just murmuring to himself some old 
 favourite stirring lines of " Young Henry of 
 Navarre," and enjoying the reminiscence, when 
 Baptiste touched him on the arm, and pointed 
 with sudden and eager excitement towards 
 two figures, — the only personages who on this 
 rainy evening shared the Place Royale with 
 Henri IV. and themselves. 
 
 These figures were tall and slight, and — 
 they were feminine ; they were clad in 
 grey waterproof, reaching to their heels ; 
 they wore small round hats ; they carried 
 umbrellas ; and on the other side of the Place, 
 between two rows of trees, they were engaged
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 2 
 
 Q 
 
 in energetic and evidently constitutional 
 
 exercise. 
 
 " Ah f whispered Baptiste. " Two Mees 
 —English— they do promenade themselves ; 
 extraordinary! is it not, ah? not to com- 
 prehend !" 
 
 " Taking a constitutional, and not a very 
 pleasant one, I should think," said Sir 
 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " So, yes ! English— ah ! but there are not 
 many now, only two or three ; but wait, you 
 will see— the beautiful families— who will 
 arrive— when winter is come. But, Sare 
 Geelbert, you will cold yourself, and you 
 have not an umbrella like the English Mees 
 —come, Monsieur, let us proceed;" and on 
 they walked, leaving the " Mees » to pound 
 up and down with the national and charac- 
 teristic energy which distinguished them. 
 
 Turning the corner into the Rue du Lycee, 
 they followed the narrow pavement until a 
 few yards brought them to a handsome
 
 24 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 archway,, to a large gate closed and barred, 
 and to a low postern door, at which Baptiste 
 rang a huge bell with much noisiness and 
 authority. It flew open, and they entered 
 a wide paved courtyard flanked by coach- 
 house and stables on one side, and by 
 servants' dwellings on the other. 
 
 A queer old-fashioned French hotel, such 
 as Gilbert had never entered before. 
 
 It was a square stone house, decorated at 
 the top by a handsome balustrade ; it had 
 broad windows, and wide marble steps lead- 
 ing up to a high doorway, through which 
 they passed into a tesselated hall. A matted 
 staircase led to the floor above, and up this 
 Baptiste conducted Gilbert with much cere- 
 mony, explaining as he went that the first 
 flat of rooms, or the " rez de chaussee," as 
 he called them, were not inhabited by the 
 Marquis, but let in the winter season to " a 
 beautiful English family,'' when he could 
 catch one.
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 25 
 
 At the first landing they reached another 
 closed door, and a red bell-rope, at which 
 Baptiste vigorously pulled again and again 
 during the two minutes that passed before 
 the door opened ; and then, ushering Sir 
 Gilbert, he trotted in. In the corridor, hold- 
 ing the door open for them, they found a 
 pretty dark-eyed girl, with a bright red hand- 
 kerchief tied round her head. She smiled 
 and curtsied with enthusiasm as Baptiste 
 indicated " Monsieur the Nephew !" and 
 marched past her with dignity into the 
 house. 
 
 They entered now a wide corridor, carpeted 
 with warm crimson drugget, and lit by a 
 large window looking into the court. From 
 this they passed into an octagon ante-room 
 lighted from the top, with a round centre 
 table and a few high-backed carved oak 
 chairs. A door opened on each of its eight 
 symmetrical sides. 
 
 Here Baptiste paused again to introduce
 
 26 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 and indicate " The drawing-room of Madame 
 la Marquise ; the dining-saloon ; the library 
 of Monsieur le Marquis ; the boudoir of 
 Madame ; and here," he continued, advancing 
 at last towards a fifth door, and proceeding 
 to open it, "is the apartment of Monsieur 
 le Vicomte Morton de St. Hilaire, which is 
 prepared, Sare Geelbert, to receive you." 
 
 The bright ruddy glow of a wood fire met 
 them as the door opened, and Gilbert enter- 
 ing the room after his chilly journey and his 
 damp walk, felt instantly less gloomy and 
 disconsolate, and more at home. 
 
 It was exactly like the smoking, writing, 
 or reading-room of any young Englishman 
 addicted in a moderate degree to these three 
 occupations, and also to the ordinary list 
 of English amusements and sports. It had a 
 large window opening down the centre on to 
 a balcony that hung over the sloping garden, 
 the foggy valley, and the hidden view. The 
 floor was parquet, but comfortably covered in
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 27 
 
 the centre and at the writing-table and fire- 
 place by a thick Persian carpet of rich and 
 beautiful hues. A pair of huge arm-chairs 
 flanked the fire-place ; several cases, tall and 
 richly carved, held a supply of books. A set 
 of hunting prints, which Gilbert recognised 
 as presents from himself to the Yicomte, 
 hung round the walls. There was a rack for 
 sticks and driving and riding whips ; there 
 were endless devices for holding pipes of 
 every variety and size, and for displaying 
 them to advantage ; and, lastly, there was a 
 bright warm glow from huge logs burning 
 in an open fire-place, where shining encaustic 
 tiles and big brass dogs took the place of an 
 English grate and hearthstone. 
 
 " A capital room" — and so Gilbert pro- 
 nounced it as he stood on the rug, and 
 Baptiste divested him of his long overcoat 
 and wet travelling cap ; and then he rubbed 
 his hands with satisfaction before the glowing 
 fire, pushed back the damp hair from his
 
 28 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 forehead, shook himself vigorously together to 
 dissipate the sensation of chill, and finally 
 flung himself into a deep leather chair on one 
 side the fire-place, and resigned himself to 
 repose. 
 
 Meanwhile Baptiste — with many and ver- 
 bose apologies for the absence of the house- 
 hold and proper staff of attendants for the 
 occasion — proceeded with great ceremony to 
 prepare for Gilbert's dinner. He placed a 
 cosy little round table close to the fire, and 
 by the time his young guest was thoroughly 
 warmed, had glanced over his mother's let- 
 ters, and had discovered that he was hungry, 
 there was a delicate little repast quite ready 
 for him, and Baptiste was announcing solemnly 
 that Monsieur was served. 
 
 And served he was, with wonderful pomp 
 and ceremony, Baptiste conducting him 
 through many courses, each of which he 
 announced in loud tones as he placed them 
 on the table. " Potage," " filets de soles/'
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 29 
 
 " cotelettes a la soubise," " fricandeau de 
 veau," and finally, much to Gilbert's consola- 
 tion, real " bifstek a 1' Anglais," specially 
 prepared, and particularly suitable for the 
 occasion and for the hungry guest. 
 
 Having dined comfortably, Gilbert felt at 
 length able to dismiss Baptiste, and to see 
 him, as he hoped, disappear for the last time 
 into the corridor, bearing the relics of his 
 dessert. But no, he returned again. He 
 had still to fidget about, to place coffee with 
 a case of the Vicomte's cigars at Gilbert's 
 side, to pile fresh wood on the fire, to draw 
 the window-curtains, to bring a reading-lamp, 
 and specially to talk the whole time in cease- 
 less explanation and apology, and in repeated 
 expressions of his ardent hope that he and 
 the " girl of the country Madeleine" (as he 
 called her of the bright handkerchief and the 
 dark smiling eyes) might succeed in making 
 Monsieur Sare Geelbert comfortable for just 
 this night.
 
 30 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 Gilbert had no doubt of it ; in fact, lie felt 
 everything that was most pleasantly comfort- 
 able at that moment — a little sleepy, a little 
 tired, rather desirous to read his home 
 budget, and extremely anxious to get rid of 
 Baptiste. Finally, the door closed behind 
 him, and Sir Gilbert leant back in his chair 
 with an exclamation of relief. 
 
 And now his letters might be perused in 
 tranquillity ; they lay beside him in a tempt- 
 ing pile ; the lamp burned softly ; the fire 
 flamed up with cheery crackling sounds, and 
 suffused a warm delicious glow over the room, 
 while he, gazing into it with a soft shady 
 look in his eyes, sank into a half-drowsy 
 reverie as a feeling of pleasant repose crept 
 
 over him, and his thoughts wandered dreamily 
 back along the track of his journey till they 
 reached his own fireside, in his own English 
 home — and there they lingered. 
 
 That home was very dear to him, and in- 
 deed, odd as it may seem in this nineteenth
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 31 
 
 century, he now left it almost for the first 
 time, — at least, for any length of absence. 
 
 An autumn in Scotland, a few weeks in 
 London, a month in Norway, he had occasion- 
 ally achieved before ; but now he had broken 
 through a routine that had hitherto ruled his 
 life, and he had come away, leaving his covers 
 and his hunting, his kennel and his stud, -for 
 how long he knew not. 
 
 Some undefined influence had come across 
 him, given this new turn to his life, and in- 
 spired the idea in his mind that he would 
 travel ; and there were family circumstances 
 which naturally inclined him towards the val- 
 leys of the Pyrenees at the very outset of his 
 travels ; that accounted, indeed, for his being 
 here, in Morton de St. Hilaire smoking-room 
 on this autumn evening, and for the starting- 
 point of all his intended journey ings being 
 
 the town of Pau. 
 
 * * * *
 
 32 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Sare Geelbert Airrl " — as Baptiste called 
 liim — properly Gilbert Stanton Erie, tenth 
 baronet of Erie's Lynn and Terwarden, Sus- 
 sex — had come very early to his title and 
 estates. 
 
 His father had been the ninth baronet, his 
 mother had been a sister of the old Earl of 
 Deningham, and Madame la Marquise de 
 St. Hilaire was his aunt on his mother's 
 side. 
 
 It was one of the odd results of certain 
 peculiarities in his family characteristics that 
 he had never been to visit her before, and, if 
 merely to understand this, we will follow for 
 a moment the course of his thoughts as they 
 wander back to his home in Sussex, and 
 linger with them as they centre round the 
 memory of the elderly lady who occupies this 
 autumn evening the large room of Erie's 
 Lynn, alone. 
 
 A stately personage, tall, handsome, and 
 imposing, Gilbert could see her distinctly in
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 33 
 
 his mind's eye, sitting solitary and silent, with 
 a large pile of wool-work by her side, a round 
 table quite near her, on which lay neat little 
 books, dim in covering, serious in contents. 
 The vast room he knew was solitary from his 
 absence, and the large house silent because his 
 voice was gone. 
 
 Such was his home, such was its only- in- 
 mate, his mother, who lived there, with him 
 and for him only, to direct his concerns, to 
 rule his servants, to care for his tenantry in 
 both spiritual and bodily estate, and, hitherto, 
 to possess him, her only child, in complete 
 and exclusive devotion of affection, energy, 
 and will. 
 
 Gilbert's father, Sir Stanton Erie, had 
 married Lady Anna Morton somewhat late 
 in life, and in so doing (her parents being 
 dead) he had given home and protection 
 to a younger sister, the Lady Violet, a gay 
 little personage, who, during her short re- 
 sidence in Sir Stanton's house, had given 
 
 vol. I. 3
 
 34 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 him infinite trouble and continual cause of 
 offence. 
 
 Sir Stanton was of the pompous and nar- 
 row-minded type of rustic Englishmen — a 
 king in his own estate, an autocrat, and a 
 bigot, the sort of man who loves to crush a 
 new idea in its very bud, to stamp out re- 
 form, to enforce game-laws, to support magis- 
 terial power with unflinching severity and 
 rigour. He said his prayers very loudly in 
 church, and would doubtless, if possible, have 
 imitated the sovereign of his early youth, and 
 ejaculated " Very proper !" when petitions for 
 those high in authority, and for the noble House 
 of Erie of Erie's Lynn in particular, came in as 
 a special clause in the parish prayers. 
 
 He chose Lady Anna as a fitting spouse 
 because he liked her rank ; he admired her 
 stately presence ; he thought her dignity 
 became a Lady of Erie's Lynn, and her cold 
 manner suited his ideas of aristocratic 
 composure.
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 35 
 
 He accepted Lady Violet as " a cross," and 
 when six months after his marriage she 
 eloped with his special abhorrence — a French- 
 man — he looked upon the event as a true 
 deliverance, and, much as he pretented dis- 
 pleasure, felt in reality delight. He deter- 
 mined to cut the connection completely, and 
 circumstances assisted him to carry out his 
 resolve. 
 
 Lady Violet went south with her repre- 
 hensible young husband, who, by-and-by, 
 palliated his iniquity to some extent by suc- 
 ceeding unexpectedly to the honours of St. 
 Hilaire. Sir Stanton died and was buried, 
 and a grand mausoleum was erected in his 
 memory as became the ninth baronet of the 
 House of Erie. 
 
 Lady Anna took to piety at this time of a 
 very extreme type, very low, very narrow, 
 very strait indeed ; and by dint of much 
 devotion and obedience therein, she made her 
 life as colourless and uneventful at Erles 
 
 3-2
 
 36 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Lynn as it could possibly be with the pre- 
 sence of a healthy, loud-voiced, merry-faced 
 boy growing up in the midst of it. He 
 warmed her heart in spite of herself. He 
 thawed much in her nature that constitution 
 and her husband's principles had combined to 
 render icy and cold ; and he moulded his 
 own existence, developed his own powers, and 
 lived out his own free simple life with 
 an independence that gave early evidence 
 in his character of considerable energy and 
 force. 
 
 Lady Anna could never make quite what 
 she wished of Gilbert. She could not tame 
 the high spirits, or dull the bright defiant 
 eyes, or hush the loud merry laugh that rang 
 through the halls and corridors — and indeed 
 much anxiety and concern did she suffer in 
 her narrow, well-meaning, mistaken mind as 
 she realised her failures in this respect. She 
 found the boy grown up free, active, full of 
 wild buoyant spirits in spite of her ; and it
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 37 
 
 must be confessed that, while the standard of 
 her creed discountenanced and mourned him, 
 in her woman's heart, full of motherly pride 
 and delight, she adored him utterly, and 
 thought him first of all created beings. 
 
 He was a good son to her, indeed, and 
 very devoted on his side ; and if she eould 
 not make all of his character and habits that 
 she might have wished, still during his early 
 years she could exercise much external 
 control. She was guardian and executrix 
 exclusively at Erie's Lynn, and she could 
 ordain in his boyhood the chief circumstances 
 of his life. So she hemmed him in, and shut 
 the world out, and kept him always at home 
 with herself, and with tutors chosen by her, 
 thus bringing him up in a tropical atmo- 
 sphere shut carefully in from that wicked 
 world where, as she really believed and 
 asserted, fierce fiery lions went ravening 
 to and fro. 
 
 Worse than all the lions, however, to the
 
 38 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 mind of Lady Anna, was the Bed Woman 
 — Babylon — the City on the Seven Hills, 
 even the Bomish Church, into whose bosom 
 Lady Violet had entered when other homes 
 and churches had cast her quite away ; and 
 bitter to Lady Anna's heart and fearful to 
 her soul was a day some ten years ago, while 
 Gilbert was still a little boy in jackets, 
 youthful and impressionable, when Lady Violet, 
 now Marquise de St. Hilaire, wrote to her 
 sister in tender terms of reconciliation, 
 announcing that her only boy, who bore her 
 own old family name, and was called Morton 
 Vicomte de St. Hilaire, was on his way to 
 school in Surrey under the charge of a faith- 
 ful servant, and that she first proposed to 
 send him to Erie's Lynn to make acquaint- 
 ance with his English cousin and aunt. 
 
 So he came — there was no help for it 
 (notwithstanding the Lady in Bed) ; and, as 
 might have been expected, the boys took to 
 each other with quick interest and devotion.
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 39 
 
 Morton soon perfected his English, and 
 Gilbert from that visit began to study 
 French. 
 
 But Morton went home again, and at 
 Erie's Lynn his cousin grew up in his routine 
 life, and for long it satisfied him. 
 
 It was such a continual round ; something 
 for every month — something to make it im- 
 possible to go far from home. 
 
 Hunting in winter, fishing in spring, a bit 
 of London in summer, then grouse in the 
 autumn, and covers till the cub-hunting 
 began again. And the interests of a land- 
 lord always, a love of his home, and a ten- 
 derness for his mother, all kept him tied to 
 his own fireside, as year after year slipped 
 away, and the long-promised visit to St. 
 Hilaire and Morton remained unpaid. 
 
 • At length, however, the fancy had seized 
 him, and, in simple obedience to this fancy, 
 here he was. 
 
 A tall fellow, now of five-and- twenty, with
 
 40 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 the sort of appearance people called "nice- 
 looking f with auburn brown hair and 
 moustache, and with well-marked brows and 
 eyelashes many shades darker than the 
 hair. 
 
 In features and build of figure he had 
 taken after his mother's family, and was not 
 at all like Sir Stanton, who had been a portly 
 and a pompous old man. 
 
 The Deningham cast of face had been called 
 " aristocratic," and Gilbert and his mother 
 possessed it, fully developed in outline of 
 feature, and especially in the brilliant smile 
 that had lit up the cold countenances of gene- 
 rations of Deninghams like the chill shining 
 of the sun upon ice. 
 
 The stately old lady at Erie's Lynn was 
 distinguished for this family smile : it would 
 flit suddenly across her face again and again 
 in moods of peculiar amiability or gracious- 
 ness, bat it touched only the lips and never 
 warmed or softened the cold hard eyes — and
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 41 
 
 Gilbert possessed the same smile — quick, bril- 
 liant, and flashing; but with him the dark 
 blue eyes glistened also when he was pleased 
 or happy, and a soft caressing expression 
 came into them that was very sweet, and 
 might certainly be very dangerous. 
 
 As he sat now musing over his mothers 
 letters, dreaming over his journey, enjoying 
 the pleasant sense of repose, and glancing 
 from time to time round the apartment in 
 contemplation of his novel surroundings, and 
 probably also in mental contemplation of the 
 new experiences opening up before him, his 
 face gained more and more an expression of 
 contented satisfaction, and altogether you 
 w 7 ould have described him just then as a 
 bright-hearted looking fellow, cheerful, simple- 
 minded, and full of confidence in life. And 
 this was indeed hitherto about the beginning 
 and end of him. His character was unde- 
 veloped, and his experience as limited as his 
 range of thought.
 
 42 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 At present, finding little to arrest his medi- 
 tations in the retrospect of his rapid journey, 
 in the gloomy impressions of the afternoon, or 
 in the moderate excitement of curiosity with 
 which he looked forward to seeing his rela- 
 tives on the Pyrenees, they soon gravitated to 
 their familiar home-centre again, and he 
 turned to the last dated of his mother's 
 letters. 
 
 It was a characteristic epistle. After many 
 pages, written in a stiff ladylike hand, filled 
 with very primitive details of sundry house- 
 hold events — telling of the excellence of the 
 apple crop, of the fading of the garden flowers, 
 and of the quick approach of autumn on the 
 foliage in the park ; after reporting the regu- 
 larity with which his phaeton horses and the 
 hunters passed her window for their exercise 
 at break of day, and describing in the same 
 parenthesis old Betty Tredgett's gratitude for 
 the last gift of her ladyship's handiwork in 
 Berlin wool — she passed on (and Gilbert's
 
 Terrestvial Paradise. 43 
 
 •eyes twinkled as he read) to the excellency of 
 the Vicar's discourse on last Sunday morning, 
 when he had attacked, as she reported, Ritu- 
 alists, Romanists, and Broad churchmen alike 
 — a discourse which he had talked over 
 most fully and agreeably with her in the 
 evening. 
 
 And — " My dear Gilbert," she wrote in 
 conclusion, " you may be sure that my 
 thoughts were with you during these hours. 
 For the recollection came bitterly to me afresh, 
 that you are now rushing into the jaws of the 
 very perils which Mr. Raybroke painted with 
 such eloquence and force — the perils of associ- 
 ations foreign to the whole spirit of the teach- 
 ings of your youth. You know with what 
 deep anxiety I shall follow your movements in 
 the course of these journey ings, from which 
 no entreaties of mine have been able to deter 
 you. My heart aches as I realise that you 
 are plunging into that world of continental 
 life so unknown to me, where, as I have been
 
 44 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 led to believe, dangers and temptations will 
 beset your path, as regards which I have been 
 able to thank God hitherto, you have been kept 
 a stranger. I do not know whether (as the 
 picture crosses my mind of your probable 
 associates) I tremble most at your peril from 
 the influences and attractions of outlandish 
 women, from the toils of a crafty priesthood, 
 or from the many pernicious examples you 
 must encounter in a lawless nation of Papists 
 and unbelievers. T have been told that the 
 charms of a foreign life are its chief peril, and 
 that the beauty of nature and climate com- 
 bine to ensnare young persons until they are 
 at last actually tempted to forget what is 
 due to their position, their personal dignity, 
 their religious principles, and in fact to them- 
 selves. These remarks have a point and 
 force which I shrink at present from indicat- 
 ing more clearly to you. I reserve farther 
 enlargement of my views until I think the 
 fitting moment has arrived. My prayers and
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 45 
 
 constant thoughts are with you, my dear 
 Gilbert, and I remain 
 
 " Your affectionate mother, 
 
 "A. Erle." 
 
 " What can the old lady be driving at ?" 
 soliloquised Gilbert, as he finished this letter. 
 " She seems to have worked herself up about 
 something that I do not see through. I 
 wonder whether I could send her a few lines 
 to-night. I am very sleepy, but I dare say 
 there would still be time." 
 
 He sat up and looked round the room as he 
 thought thus, wondering whether there w^ere 
 table and writing materials to be had of which 
 he might avail himself without summoning 
 Baptiste. Soon in a corner he espied the 
 Vicomte's trim little appointment — a leather- 
 covered writing-table fully fitted with every 
 requirement, and evincing in the details a 
 curious combination of English and Parisian 
 taste. He rose immediately, carried his lamp
 
 46 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 into the corner, opened and arranged the 
 writing-book, came back to the fireplace to 
 stir up the wood and to light one of his 
 cousin's cigars at the ruddy blaze, and at last, 
 puffing comfortably the while, he returned to 
 the table and began to write. His pen ran 
 very fast and vehemently. 
 
 "My dear Mother, 
 
 " I have just received your letters, and 
 read them comfortably ensconced at the end of 
 my journey in Morton's snug smoking-room 
 in the Hue du Lyc^e, Pau, and I think the 
 best thing I can do is to answer them at once, 
 though I am very tired and drowsy and I 
 see the door standing open into Morton's snug 
 bedroom, where I am to put up for the night. 
 But you have written so much about foreign 
 attractions and charms and beauties and so 
 forth, that I think I may as well relieve your 
 mind at once by telling you that I don't like 
 the looks of things here at all. I have seen
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 47 
 
 nothing satisfactory yet in my travels. I do 
 not think the kind of amusement suits me in 
 any way, and I should not wonder if before 
 many weeks you see me back again. 
 
 " I did not stay in Paris — only drove from 
 one station to the other — so I cant say any- 
 thing good or bad for that city. Having a 
 journey to accomplish, I pushed on as fast as 
 possible to the end of it, as you know I gene- 
 rally like to do with anything I undertake. 
 It was very dark as I drove through Paris, 
 and foggy, with pouring rain ; the lamps 
 burned dimly in the street in consequence, 
 so I thought it on the whole rather dingy- 
 looking. 
 
 " As to Pau — this terrestrial paradise ot 
 Mortons — I do not like it a bit. I cannot 
 think how they can live here. I walked up 
 from the station and had a good view of the 
 town, and it struck me as a regularly ugly 
 place : a row of big, square, and very dull- 
 looking houses standing on a sort of terrace
 
 48 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 which overhangs a long damp valley quite 
 covered with fog. 
 
 " Their mountains are about as high as the 
 so-called ' mountains ' of people who have 
 never been to Scotland, and they simply 
 teach me how the geography books of our 
 schoolroom days can lie. A long low range of 
 insignificant-looking hills was all I could dis- 
 tinguish, and Morton always said the finest 
 view of the Pyrenees at Pau was from his 
 smoking-room window. 
 
 " I saw an old priest at the station, by-the- 
 by, and thought of the Vatican and — you. 
 Bat I fancy a very prolonged exposure to his 
 influence would be needed to shake my fidelity 
 to our mother Church. And as to the fair 
 sex, to whom you allude so pointedly, I 
 beheld two compatriots in waterproof pro- 
 menading the place, but did not think they 
 looked attractive. I must confess, however, 
 and give the B^arnais mrddens their due, that 
 they are very pretty. I like the way they
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 49 
 
 tie up their heads in gay-coloured handker- 
 chiefs, and they certainly have darker eyes 
 and brighter smiles than anything I have 
 ever seen among the rustics of our Lynn. But 
 still, I do not think yon need agitate yourself 
 with the fear that I shall present you with a 
 daughter-in-law whose capacity in conversa- 
 tion is limited to patois. 
 
 " In fact, dear mother, I think you will 
 soon have me home again — much as I came 
 away ; perhaps a trifle more insular in my 
 prejudices, and echoing that cynical old Mon- 
 taigne in his opinion, ' Qu'on voyage moins 
 pour s'instruire que pour se d^sillusionner." 
 Etc., etc., etc. 
 
 As he drew his pen across the paper in a 
 firm rapid line beneath his signature a knock 
 at the door made him look up, and Baptiste 
 entered. 
 
 " Ah ! the very man I wanted !" said 
 Gilbert as he folded and closed his letter. 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Sare Geelbert would send a letter to the 
 
 post r 
 
 11 Yes ; is there still time V 
 
 " Perfectly — and it will catch the early 
 mail to-morrow. I will take it myself." 
 
 "Ah ! that is all right. Is it far to the 
 post-office ?" 
 
 " No, that is nothing ; besides, I came in 
 just to see if you are comfortable, Monsieur, 
 and to say that the time has re-made itself." 
 
 " The what ? the time ?" said Gilbert. "It 
 is about ten o'clock." # 
 
 "Ah! but I would say the rain: it tumbles 
 not more," said Baptiste. " The sky has 
 raised itself — the mountains have been dis- 
 covered — it makes a beautiful time." 
 
 "What ? it has cleared up ? I am so glad ! 
 I thought it would rain for ever, Baptiste. I 
 have not had a fine moment since I crossed 
 the Channel." 
 
 " Ah ! but it is quick here — it is gone now 
 — it is disappeared — will Sare Geelbert see ?
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 51 
 
 The night is warm — beautiful — will Sare 
 Geelbert finish his cigar on the Vicomte's 
 balcon V 
 
 " Rather a chilly smoking-room, eh ?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur ; there is cover and carpet 
 and seat. Shall I push the curtain ? look ! 
 Sare Geelbert: it is past; the storm is gone 
 far away." 
 
 He pushed back the hangings as he con- 
 tinued speaking, he opened the window, and 
 Gilbert, who had moved to the fire, turned 
 just at the moment in time to meet the 
 breath of air, sweet and cool and scented, 
 that came flowing into the hot room. It was 
 delicious, touching his brow with the softness 
 of rose petals, and drawing him instantly and 
 irresistibly to the window, out on to the 
 balcony, and into the stilly night. 
 
 " There !" exclaimed Baptiste in his favour- 
 ite expression of triumph. " I told you — 
 and now you see !" and then he stepped 
 back and let fall the curtain, picking up the 
 
 4-2 
 
 •LIBRARY 
 
 ,~,-«i f\C 
 
 H 1 WOlS
 
 52 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 letter and preparing to depart with it, for no 
 answer had come from Gilbert, who stood 
 there, silenced as by enchanter's spell, gazing 
 with beating heart and glistening eyes on the 
 prospect. 
 
 What had he felt ? What had he said ? 
 What had he written? Words contemptuous 
 and incredulous of the Pyrenees ! and there 
 now they lay before him. 
 
 The rain had ceased, the mists had cleared 
 away, the moon had risen, the sky was cloud- 
 less and stretched a vast and wondrous cur- 
 tain, deep blue and star spangled, high above 
 his head ; the low hills lay in the foreground, 
 delicate and shadowy in outline, melting 
 away into the distance, and sloping softly 
 to the riverside. The Gave, that had rushed 
 so murkily under its foggy covering in the 
 afternoon, lay now as a glittering thread of 
 light, winding through the valley's depths ; 
 cottage windows twinkled cheerily here and 
 there upon the hillsides, and lights gleamed
 
 Terrestrial Paradise. 53 
 
 anion of the woods that fringed the edges ot 
 the stream. Over all there seemed to hang a 
 silvery veil that was at once mist and trans- 
 parency, both shadow and light ; and beyond 
 this, and through this, as in a far distant and 
 celestial dream-land, rose the mountains. In 
 that silent wondrous majesty that speaks a 
 language to the soul, the summit of the Midi 
 d'Ossau towered in the archway of heaven ; 
 away in the shadowy distance rose the mighty 
 Pic de Bigorre, and between and beyond 
 these range upon range, pic above pic, 
 stretched far across the western and the 
 eastern sky. 
 
 It was a sight such as stirs the heart and 
 unseals it, makes the cheek flush, the eyes 
 fill, and the head bend with reverence and 
 awe ; and Gilbert laid his cigar down on the 
 balustrade, threw his head up with intense 
 enjoyment to breathe the sweet free mountain 
 air- — bent it again as the majesty of the scene 
 overcame him, and words of wonder and exul-
 
 54 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 tation burst unbidden from bis lips. Tben 
 he sank on to Morton's smoking-chair, and 
 leant bis cbeek against tbe stonework, and 
 gazed, and gazed — wbile time passed on un- 
 heeded. His heart seemed fall and laden 
 with a wonderful sense of happiness, intoxi- 
 cating and intense, and old memories and 
 quaint old thoughts and fair fanciful dreams 
 of his forgotten boyhood came gradually 
 breaking over him, with strange movings of 
 a new nature and of awakening sensibilities 
 springing up unconsciously within him, born 
 of the power and the inspiration and the 
 glory of that wondrous scene.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DAYLIGHT. 
 
 gAPTISTE had been the confidential 
 servant who had conveyed the 
 young Vicomte de St. Hilaire to 
 Erie's Lynn ten years ago, and during this 
 visit he had perfected, as he imagined, his 
 knowledge of the English language, and 
 acquired a familiarity with English habits 
 that was ever afterwards his boast and 
 
 pride. 
 
 Ten years, however, was long enough to ob- 
 literate more recollections than Baptiste 
 would have liked to acknowledge, and this
 
 56 The San-Maid. 
 
 fact was evidenced on the following morn- 
 ing by his appearance in Gilbert's bedroom 
 (five minutes after that drowsy young person 
 had woke up and had vigorously pulled his 
 bell-rope) laden with an immense tray covered 
 with a tempting-looking breakfast of hot 
 coffee, fresh rolls, toast and butter, beef- 
 steaks, a large pot of jam, and a quantity of 
 potatoes — a comical combination of national 
 tastes which Baptiste had flattered himself 
 was everything that was most British. 
 
 " Good gracious !" exclaimed Gilbert, 
 " what have you got there ? Food ! why, I 
 have only this moment woke up !" 
 
 " Sare, brekfast I" replied Baptiste, with 
 energy. 
 
 " But I do not want it here, my friend. 
 Why, I do not think I have breakfasted in 
 bed since I had the measles !" 
 
 " But Sare Geelbert is fatigued — you will 
 repose yourself — and while I open the cur- 
 tains you will take a little refreshment."
 
 Daylight. 57 
 
 " Nonsense, Baptiste ! quite impossible ! 
 Please take it away and bring me a lot of 
 cold water." 
 
 " Monsieur will not eat — ah ! what a pity ! 
 I have had it hot and ready for him for an 
 hour." 
 
 "Well, I won't be ten minutes, if you will 
 only put it on the table in the next room — 
 it will not get cold — only bring me water, 
 Baptiste, a quantity, and something big to 
 put it into too." 
 
 "Ah!" responded Baptiste, in a tone of 
 perfect comprehension, as he wheeled round 
 slowly and unwillingly, carrying his sump- 
 tuous breakfast into the sitting-room. " I am 
 there — I know. I forgot Sare Geelbert will 
 have like Madame la Marquise and the 
 Vicomte — hold — yes, that is it — Monsieur 
 shall have his will — it is possible ;" which 
 Gilbert was exceedingly glad to hear — both 
 the permission and the possibility — for he had 
 been looking rather ruefully all this time at
 
 58 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 the diminutive apparatus for achievements of 
 the toilet, of which the gilded mirror was 
 much the largest and most important item. 
 
 It was a pretty little bedroom, a trifle too 
 luxurious and effeminate for his taste. The 
 curtains had been closed carefully by Baptiste 
 the night before, but between them came a 
 ray of sunshine shooting in a straight line 
 across the room like a silver- tipped arrow of 
 light; and it made Gilbert impatient to be 
 up, to throw open the window, and to enjoy 
 once more the glorious prospect that had be- 
 witched him the night before. 
 
 Much to his satisfaction Baptiste returned 
 presently from the sitting-room, slid back a 
 narrow panelled door in the chintz-lined wall 
 of the bedroom, and displayed to Gilbert's 
 sight a most compact little dressing-room, 
 with cool tempting-looking marble bath, and 
 all those appliances for refreshment which he 
 desired. 
 
 Half an hour more and he was in the smok-
 
 Daylight. 59 
 
 ing-room, thoroughly rested from his long 
 journey, trim, brushed, and polished, and — 
 as he himself would have expressed it — " as 
 fresh as paint ;" and then at last he satisfied 
 Baptiste by doing; ample justice to his ex- 
 cellent fare, enjoying at the same time his 
 breakfast, the mountain view by daylight, and 
 the delicious air floating in at the open win- 
 dow by which his table was placed. All this 
 he accomplished in much cheerfulness of 
 spirit, and in utter oblivion of the disconsolate 
 letter he had sent to Erie's Lynn the evening 
 before. 
 
 Baptiste conversed as usual through the 
 whole repast, uninvited and unceasingly, tell- 
 ing him, among other things, that the Yicomte 
 was sure to arrive at an early hour, as he w r as 
 exceedingly anxious to receive his cousin, and 
 would wish either to be his companion this 
 morning as he explored the beauties of the 
 town, or to conduct him at once to St. Hilaire, 
 before luncheon, to embrace his aunt.
 
 60 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Meanwhile, when Gilbert had finished, 
 Baptiste left the clearing of the breakfast 
 table to Madeleine, and proceeded to do the 
 honours of the house by conducting the 
 young guest, for his amusement, from room to 
 room. 
 
 There were first the drawing-room of the 
 Marquise to be explored — a beautiful recep- 
 tion saloon with Aubusson carpet, and panels 
 of Gobelin tapestry, and turquoise hangings, 
 and Venetian chandeliers, which, as Baptiste 
 boasted, held on many festive occasions dur- 
 ing the winter innumerable wax-lights, and 
 glittered like the sun. 
 
 There was the Marquis's business-room, 
 comfortable and unpretentious, to be seen ; 
 there was the dining-hall with polished floor 
 and high open fireplace, lit on great occasions 
 by huge lamps held aloft by black figures in 
 the corners ; there was the little round room 
 where the sun poured in bright and cheerily,, 
 furnished with simplicity and in English
 
 Daylight. 6 1 
 
 style, winch, the family used daily as a dining- 
 room ; and lastly there was an exquisite little 
 chamber, into which they entered through an 
 arched doorway with a beautiful carved scroll 
 running around it, on which was woven a 
 wreath of violets picked out in colours delicate 
 and bright. 
 
 " This," cried Baptiste triumphantly, •" is 
 the violet room, the boudoir of Madame la 
 Marquise." 
 
 Gilbert exclaimed in admiration as he 
 entered, and smiled also with much amuse- 
 ment to himself as he thought that a sister of 
 his mother actually occupied such a room. 
 
 It was violet everywhere. The walls 
 panelled with silk of a delicate shade, on 
 which the cipher and coronet of the Marquise 
 were worked in silver with the leaves and 
 flowers twining round the letters of her name ; 
 soft and cloudy curtains of lace, lined also with 
 violet, hung over the windows and toned and 
 harmonised the whole colouring of the room.
 
 62 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 The furnishings were small and dainty, and 
 on every part of them, with a taste that was 
 decidedly French, on carpet, table-cover, 
 cabinets, and chairs, was embroidered or inlaid 
 the monogram, coronet, and woven wreath, 
 proclaiming them with all their costly beauty 
 to have been made and destined specially for 
 the place they occupied, and for the owner of 
 the room. 
 
 " The violet boudoir," as Baptiste re- 
 peated. " Prepared for Madame la Marquise 
 by Monsieur himself when he came here, as a 
 a surprise upon her day of fete. There is one 
 just like it at the chateau on the hill. A 
 pretty tribute is it not to Madame and her 
 name, Sare Geelbert ? Ah ! I assure you, you 
 will see of all the flowers at St. Hilaire the 
 Violette is always the queen." 
 
 Gilbert laughed merrily as he applauded 
 the graceful turning of Baptiste's compliment, 
 and thought to himself what an oddity an 
 English valet would be who discoursed in
 
 Daylight. 63 
 
 such flowery style ; and then, having amply 
 admired the beautiful little apartment, they 
 returned to the smoking-room, and Gilbert lit 
 his morning cigar. 
 
 Baptiste wisely took this as a hint for his 
 dismissal, and he departed, after fidgeting 
 about for several extra and unnecessary 
 minutes to assure himself that Monsieur was 
 provided in all his requirements, and that 
 Madeleine had left no part of her dusting and 
 sweeping undone ; and then Gilbert conveyed 
 himself and his cigar to the window. 
 
 He felt in most gleeful spirits ; his mood of 
 the night before had quite evaporated ; he was 
 full of anticipation of enjoyment ; and all these 
 pleasant sensations seemed somehow to come 
 over him irresistibly, simply from the influence 
 of things external as they surrounded him in 
 this morning light. 
 
 The mountain view, as he leant now from 
 Morton's balcony, was far less mystic and 
 soul-stirring than it had seemed to him
 
 64 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 wrapt in the silvery moonlight the night be- 
 fore, but there was a wonderful gladness in 
 the prospect — it was essentially what the 
 French call riante. 
 
 The foreground of the sloping coteaux 
 seemed positively to smile — the sunlight 
 touching here and there a sweep of brilliant 
 verdure, or again a bank of wood, all golden 
 and amber with the early autumn tints. Soft 
 rising columns of blue smoke curled into the 
 still air from chateaux, villas, and peaceful 
 peasant homes, of which many stood on the 
 green slopes, and nestled in the sheltering 
 woods of those rich and beautiful hills. 
 
 In the near foreground lay the river, the 
 Gave, and the village Jurancon, the suns rays 
 tipping the roofs and churches, and drawing 
 them out into strong relief against the green 
 or russet setting that sloped behind. From 
 the church tower of Gelos rang out the mid- 
 day chimes, sweeping down the valley with 
 soft musical echo, and reaching Gilbert mel-
 
 Daylight. 65 
 
 lowed by the distance, floating towards him 
 on the sweet breezes of the mountain 
 air. 
 
 The heavy rain of the day before had fallen, 
 as he now saw, in the first coating of snow 
 upon the highest mountains, and the Pic du 
 Midi d'Ossau reared its proud crest, white 
 and silvery and wonderful in brightness, 
 against the deep blue sky. Over the soft 
 grey hues of the lower mountains, across their 
 summits, and along their precipitous sides, 
 darkness and sunshine seemed to chase each 
 other, with the wonderful effect which forms 
 the chief fascination of that bewitching view 
 — for, on such a morning, light and shade, 
 sunshine and shadow, with ceaseless and fan- 
 tastic change play and dance continually there, 
 over mountains and valley, over distance and 
 foreground, over verdure and snow. 
 
 Long before Gilbert had thought of weary- 
 ing of it all, or felt that he had half exhausted 
 the enjoyment of the mountain view, while the 
 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 mysterious longing was still strong upon him 
 to go there, to cross the valley, to skim the 
 lower summits, and to reach somehow, any- 
 hoiv, the snowy shaft that seemed piercing the 
 highest sky — a sudden noise reached his ears. 
 First the pealing of the huge gate-bell, then 
 the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the roll of a 
 carriage in the courtyard below ; the hasty 
 banging of doors, the tread of rapid footsteps 
 springing up the outer stairs, then voices 
 loud and cheery, mingling young and old ; 
 and finally, before he had time to fling away 
 his cigar, and turn from the window, the 
 door opened, and cousin and uncle simultane- 
 ously burst into the room. 
 
 Morton — an altered Morton from what he 
 remembered at Erie's Lynn — sprang towards 
 him with a cry of welcome, with a smiling 
 countenance and outstretched hands; and be- 
 fore Gilbert had nearly finished wringing 
 them in a warm and eager grasp, the old 
 Marquis had caught him up, enveloped him
 
 Daylight. 67 
 
 in an enormous fat soft embrace, that sug- 
 gested suffocation in a feather-bed, and, much 
 to Gilbert's discomfiture, had kissed him 
 loudly upon each cheek. He was very much 
 put out, but managed to right himself, gain- 
 ing his equilibrium, and disengaging himself 
 from his uncle's embrace, while Morton 
 clasped his hand again, and continued' the 
 reiteration of his welcome and delight. 
 
 " Dear fellow ! I am so glad to see you at 
 last ! Ah, you faithless Gilbert ! how many 
 years is it — ten — since you were to come to 
 St. Hilaire the very next spring V 
 
 " Never mind," exclaimed the Marquis in 
 very broken English, differing widely from his 
 sons, which was perfectly correct and pure. 
 " Never mind, he has come now — so we will 
 only welcome him, and not upbraid him with 
 the past." 
 
 " I am very glad to come, at all events," 
 began Gilbert. 
 
 " Ah, that is right," broke in the Marquis ; 
 
 5-2
 
 68 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " and you will be glad to stay, I hope, and 
 sorry, very sorry, to go, when some day, a 
 long time hence, we consent to part with 
 you! 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you !■" cried Gilbert 
 warmly, " thank you, for your welcome in- 
 deed !" 
 
 " Welcome ! of course we welcome you — a 
 thousand times — my dear boy ! my nice, 
 handsome, fine young fellow ! nephew of my 
 Violette ! I am ten times delighted to wel- 
 come you to St. Hilaire !" 
 
 " Thanks — thanks," repeated Gilbert ; and 
 then he edged a few steps away, for the Mar- 
 quis's eyes were glistening with effusive 
 -affection, and he looked a little bit as if he 
 would fain in his cordiality re-envelop his 
 nephew, and embrace him again — and Gilbert 
 did not like it. He edged away a little, and 
 contemplated his uncle with no small curi- 
 osity and amusement, as the Marquis sank 
 into a chair, fanned himself with a large
 
 Daylight. 69 
 
 pocket-handkerchief, and regained slowly his 
 coolness and composure. 
 
 The Marquis de St. Hilaire had all the re- 
 mains of the good looks which had captivated 
 Violet Morton in those sunny days of thirty 
 years ago. He had the brightest possible 
 twinkle in his eyes, and the softest conceiv- 
 able tones in his mellow voice. He had good 
 features, a fine presence, a courtliness of 
 manner that was wonderful to behold, and a 
 genuine bonhomie of disposition that made 
 life pleasant to himself and to everybody 
 about him. Alas ! the symmetry of his hand- 
 some features aud the grace of his stalwart 
 frame were hidden — encompassed and en- 
 veloped by an amount of voluminous obesity, 
 that was to himself a source of pretended, 
 and to his fond Marquise of most genuine, 
 regret. 
 
 " Ah ! " she often said, " Leon, my darling, 
 you were once beautiful ; but now, helas ! 
 you are nothing but a ' bon papa !'"
 
 70 The. Sun-Maid, 
 
 He was very like a huge good-natured 
 Plomplon, for his features were of the type 
 Napoleonistic — and so were his sentiments. 
 " The Violet," as he repeated often, held his 
 allegiance, alike for his home at St. Hilaire 
 and for the throne of France I 
 
 Morton, Vicomte de St. Hilaire (or " Morr- 
 ton-g," as his French friends called him, with 
 that energy of the r and faint echo of the g 
 which it is impossible to transcribe into 
 English), was as pleasant a young cousin, in 
 appearance, character, and manner, as any one 
 who had travelled, like Gilbert, some distance 
 to seek him could wish to find. Slight, 
 straight, energetic, and about the medium 
 height, shorter by some inches than Gilbert, he 
 was many shades darker in complexion and 
 colouring. His eyes and hair and his pointed 
 moustache were all nut-brown, the eyes clear, 
 bright, and cordial, and the smile frequent 
 and sweet. 
 
 He had few national characteristics of any
 
 Daylight. 7 1 
 
 kind, either English or French. He inclined 
 towards the former in taste, towards the 
 latter in disposition. He had long employed 
 Gilbert's tailor, ridden English horses, boasted 
 an English groom, and gloried in broad-toed 
 boots ; but, on the other side, to outbalance 
 these Britannic tendencies, he had a ( pas- 
 sionate love of his home and his mountains, 
 that was Bearnais, with a sensibility to, 
 and enjoyment of, all the external softness 
 and graces of life that proclaimed him 
 Southern and French. 
 
 He was fiance, as we have gathered already 
 from Baptiste's reference, as he and Gilbert 
 had walked up the hill together from the 
 station; and his was not to be merely a 
 French marriage of convenience, but a 
 genuine love affair, of which Gilbert was 
 destined to hear much, and in which his in- 
 terests would be often and genuinely con- 
 cerned before his visit to the Pyrenees was 
 over.
 
 72 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 All this we may know ; but Gilbert bad 
 not time either to observe or to discover 
 much personally about his cousin before the 
 Marquis and Baptiste combined to hurry 
 their departure for St. Hilaire. 
 
 "We will not stop to explore the town to- 
 day, I think," said Morton; "shall we, Gilbert? 
 You will have many opportunities of doing it 
 all again." 
 
 " Certainly not 1" exclaimed the Marquis. 
 " Your aunt does languish to behold you, my 
 nephew. She pines to embrace you : she is 
 impatient to receive you at long last at her 
 home. Come, let us go at once, Morton. 
 We will reach St. Hilaire for the English 
 lunch, and Gilbert can see the Pau celebrities 
 another day." 
 
 " I am dying to be off," said Gilbert. " I 
 have been looking at these mountains all the 
 morning, and wishing for a patent flying- 
 machine or a serviceable balloon. I am long- 
 ing to get to the other side of the valley, and
 
 Daylight. 73 
 
 I cannot say that I saw much that was at- 
 tractive over here." 
 
 "Well, let us start then at once," said 
 Morton. " Come along I" and downstairs 
 they went without further delay. 
 
 In the courtyard was the Marquis's phaeton 
 — a neat little London-built Stanhope, with a 
 handsome pair of chestnuts champing their 
 bits with impatience to be off. Behind it 
 stood a tax-cart, drawn by a huge mule and 
 driven by a peasant in the orthodox blouse 
 and beret. 
 
 Gilbert's luggage was hoisted on to this, 
 and Baptiste, scrambling up behind, sat down 
 backwards with much solemnity on the highest 
 portmanteau, and folded his arms with an 
 air as if no dignity could be wanting to 
 this or any position while he was there to im- 
 part it. 
 
 The Marquis, with wonderful agility, sprang 
 to his driving-box ; Gilbert, as invited, took 
 the seat beside him ; Morton jumped up w 7 ith
 
 74 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 the smart groom behind; and off they went 
 out of the courtyard, along the Rue du Lyc^e, 
 bowling through the Place Gramont, down 
 the hill, across the bridge, and away over the 
 sunny road towards the sloping hills. 
 
 It was a charming drive, for the mountain 
 air, cool and autumnal, tempered the fervour 
 of the sun. The way lay through rich glades 
 of wood, and vineyard, and pastures, all green, 
 soft, meadowy, and luxuriant as the valleys 
 of Devon, and surpassing in beauty that 
 richest corner of England, because the pics 
 and snowy shoulders of the mountains rose 
 ever in the dreamy distance beyond. 
 
 It was an amusing drive too, for it was 
 market-day across the Gave at Pau, and the 
 road was covered with an endless train of 
 laden ox-carts, with mules and donkeys gaily 
 decked in Spanish harness, ridden by men 
 and women indiscriminately, and by old and 
 young. 
 
 An extraordinary confusion of sounds rose
 
 Daylight. 75 
 
 from the tinkling: of the ox-bells and the loud 
 jabbering voices of the drivers squabbling 
 together in noisy Bearnaise, or exhorting their 
 oxen in caressing and beseeching tones ; and as 
 the oxen often turned obstinate and stood still, 
 it was curious to see their drivers seize them 
 forcibly by the horns, and drag them from the 
 middle of the crowded road into a place of 
 safety on the side- way. Indeed, the medley 
 of men, donkeys, old women, and vehicles, 
 straggling along the road, and more often 
 across it, was a spectacle full of characteristics, 
 both rustic and local. 
 
 The Marquis drove at full speed, holding 
 the reins tightly in both hands ; and most 
 dexterously did he dodge in and out, round 
 the ox- carts and across from side to side of 
 the road, narrowly escaping at one point an 
 old woman and her donkey ; scattering a 
 herd of goats in fifty directions at another ; 
 seeming to threaten men and animals with 
 instant destruction, and seeming always to
 
 76 The Sim-Maid. 
 
 peril his carriage and horses, to say nothing 
 of his own neck and those of his friends. 
 
 Nothing happened, however : the carriage 
 went smoothly on. He was accustomed to 
 all of them — peasants and cattle and donkeys, 
 — and they to him. He shouted, harangued, 
 and scolded, always with extraordinary effect; 
 and when his voice died away in the distance 
 as his phaeton bowled on, Baptiste,in the mule- 
 cart, took up the thread where his master left 
 it; and, having the advantage of sitting back- 
 wards, he could execrate men and oxen and 
 old women quite to his satisfaction as they 
 stretched far behind him along the road. 
 
 About five miles they drove on in this way, 
 sometimes on the level, following the rippling 
 courses of the stream ; now breasting at full 
 trot a sudden rise over a sloping coteau; 
 again dipping into the valley beyond ; until 
 at length, crossing the steep shoulder of one 
 vine-covered hill, they seemed to leave Pau 
 and the rushing Gave, and the lower summits
 
 Daylight. 77 
 
 of the cdteaux suddenly behind them, and they 
 came upon a grand new opening view reach- 
 ing far into the Pyrenees. The Chateau 
 de St. Hilaire lay among clustering woods, 
 surrounded by soft undulating sward, just in 
 the foreground below them. 
 
 The lofty turrets and the highest windows 
 of St. Hilaire might catch the prospect on 
 the Pau side, and reach to the plains that lay 
 flat and far beyond ; but the frontage of the 
 Chateau looked southward, commanding the 
 pics and ranges of the mountains, and facing 
 the full glory and radiance of the Spanish 
 sun. 
 
 Beneath groups of fine old oak trees they 
 bowled up the avenue, dipping and rising a 
 dozen times as they traversed narrow ravines, 
 and crossed the rustic bridges that spanned the 
 stream. They drove through a shady beech- 
 wood, and rolled softly over the golden carpet 
 of fallen leaves which autumn and the moun- 
 tain breezes had strewn richly at their feet,
 
 78 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 and finally they shot round a sharp corner, in 
 at the private entrance, and up a gentle slope 
 between brilliant parterres of flowers, clusters 
 of rose-bushes, and banks of velvet sward. 
 The Marquis brought them swinging up 
 to the door at a fine pace with immense 
 flourish and a great deal of air. A cleverly 
 performed piece of driving it had certainly 
 been, for which he was immensely well pleased 
 with himself. 
 
 "There, now!" he exclaimed, as he scrambled 
 down with assistance after Gilbert had alighted. 
 " There, five miles ! hill and dale, and done 
 sharply in the fifty minutes, oxen and old 
 women and all ! What you say ? I can 
 drive ? like an Englishman ? Yes, just so \ 
 Capital ! Come in, my dear boy, come in." 
 
 Gilbert was lingering a moment, and look- 
 ing about him with admiration and enjoy- 
 ment; but when Morton had sprung from his 
 back seat in the phaeton, the Marquis bustled 
 enormously and hurried them both in. Gilbert
 
 Daylight. 79 
 
 must be presented to Madame without any 
 delay. 
 
 They passed now through an antique porch, 
 through a mighty door into a large hall, hand- 
 some, beautifully proportioned, vaulted, and 
 richly carved; and here they encountered a 
 group of servants in picturesque liveries. 
 Lacqueys they were of the French rococo school 
 — no one would have dreamt of calling them 
 " footmen," so little had they an air of " John 
 Thomas," and so much of " Buy Bias." 
 They were hastening to the entrance at the 
 sound of Monsieur le Marquis's approach. 
 But he was too quick for them. They were 
 only in time to stand back in order, and bow 
 with ceremony as he trotted heavily past 
 them in much hurry and excitement, and 
 crossed the hall. 
 
 One man threw open a door ; a second in 
 the plain dress of a chamberlain pronounced 
 the Marquis'3 and Gilbert's name ; and in ran 
 the old gentleman, followed by his son and
 
 80 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 nephew, through a large ante-room, under a 
 thick festooned curtain, and into the drawing- 
 room, where, in the recess of a window, bend- 
 ing over her broidery-frame, his " Violette," 
 the Marquise, sat alone. 
 
 " Here he is ! at last we have caught him !" 
 shouted the Marquis in French ; and then he 
 laughed immoderately, and shook his huge 
 sides with delight, while Gilbert came forward, 
 and his aunt rose, pushed her frame away, 
 came quickly to meet him, and with an excla- 
 mation of pleasure put up her hands upon 
 his shoulders, and close round his neck. 
 "Dear child ! dear child !" she murmured, 
 " thrice welcome !" and she kissed him softly 
 on forehead and cheek. 
 
 It was impossible to realise for a moment 
 ■ — as she stood back from him to look up into 
 his face, and as he could then survey her 
 from head to foot — impossible to realise that 
 this was his mother's sister. The recollection 
 of his mother shot across him for a moment —
 
 Daylight. 3 1 
 
 chill, stern, and even to bim so undemon- 
 strative : the recollection of her tall unbend- 
 ing figure ; of her iron-grey braided hair ; of 
 the lines of age in her grave countenance ; 
 and of the rigorous simplicity in the style 
 and materials of her dress. And here was 
 her only sister — that renegade of thirty years 
 ago — very little her junior, and as unlike her 
 as two extremes could be. 
 
 The Marquise was even taller than his 
 mother, but in her graceful figure there was 
 no approach to anything austere or grim. 
 Her cheek was pale, but smooth and downy — 
 the lines somehow softened away ; her hair 
 clustered thickly over her forehead, frizzed 
 and feathery, fine as spun silk and white as 
 driven snow. Her eyes were sparkling, and 
 her radiant smile was full of happiness and 
 fun. Her dress was of some dark shade, 
 trimmed richly, and hung to perfection ; 
 across her shoulders she wore a fichu of fine 
 lace, and a Marie Antoinette cap crowned the 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 The Sun-Maid, 
 
 wonderful arrangement of her snowy hair. 
 There was no attempt at youth in any way, 
 but certainly there was the substitute of most 
 artistic perfection in all the harmonies of con- 
 fessed age. People were fond of comparing 
 her to " an old picture," not knowing very 
 clearly what they meant, but somehow 
 because the idea does float vaguely abroad 
 that old masters admired exquisite laces, soft 
 harmony of colour, graceful lines in the 
 draping of a costume, in the folds of a fichu, 
 in the setting of a head-dress ; and if this was 
 indeed the case, then Madame la Marquise de 
 St. Hilaire was certainly "like an old picture," 
 for she shared all these tastes with them. 
 
 " Dear child !" she murmured again to 
 Gilbert, in answer to his, " How are you, 
 aunt V " I am very glad to see you at 
 last." 
 
 " Poor Anna's boy !" she continued ; " poor 
 Anna. And so you have come at last ! Well, 
 I am glad to see you, dear ; yes, very glad !"
 
 Daylight. 83 
 
 " And I am delighted to be here." 
 " Sit down, dear child, sit down here by 
 me. Go away, Lu ; go away, Fanfan ; make 
 room for our guest, my jewels — and oh! 
 Morton cher, lift up this mountain of work/' 
 
 A white Maltese and a tiny English terrier 
 woke up with indignation as she spoke, and 
 crept off the sofa disconsolate and very un- 
 willing as she swept them gently away, while 
 Morton laughed and came forward to do her 
 bidding, and to carry off an armful of soft 
 bright-coloured wools that had been piled in 
 confusion by her side. Then she sat down and 
 
 i 
 
 drew Gilbert on to the sofa. She took his 
 hand and patted it gently with her own, which 
 were white and small and well-shapen, and 
 sparkling with a lavish and costly profusion 
 of brilliant rings ; and he looked at her still 
 in unutterable amazement, thinking first that 
 " surely no fellow ever had such an aunt !" 
 and conclusively, that (though an old woman 
 without doubt) she was — young, old, or middle- 
 
 6-2
 
 84 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 aged — almost the loveliest woman lie had ever 
 seen. 
 
 The Marquis had thought so for many a day, 
 and he liked a great deal of her attention for 
 his fascinating and most amiable self; even a 
 handsome young nephew, though newly ac- 
 quired, must not absorb her for more than a 
 very few minutes at a time ; so he struck in 
 with : 
 
 " Well, Yiolette, and so we have got him ; 
 and what do you think of him now he is 
 here, eh ? Hah ! hah !" And then he rub- 
 bed his fat hands together, and laughed again 
 with that good-humoured and quite pur- 
 poseless laugh of his which he found suitable 
 to almost any occasion. Then he had much 
 to tell — of his feat of driving, of Gilbert's 
 admiration of his power as a " Jehu," of the 
 time they had taken to bowl over to the Rue 
 du Lyc^e, and the proportionate rapidity with 
 which they had come back ; and his wife 
 answered him with sunny smiles and sympa-
 
 Daylight. 85 
 
 thetic glances until at length he departed, 
 happy in considering himself equal to the best 
 whip in the Four-in-Hand Club, and possessed 
 of the loveliest wife in the province of Berne. 
 
 Then the remaining three sat talking. 
 
 " Dear child," as the Marquise continued to 
 call Gilbert, "so you made a nice journey, 
 and you like the country, and you are pleased 
 to be with us all here V 
 
 " I am delighted to be with you," said 
 Gilbert ; " but I hated the journey, and yes- 
 terday I did not at all like the place." 
 
 " Ah, that was because it rained," rejoined 
 Morton. " Baptiste told me it poured when 
 you came into Pau." 
 
 "It did. It was horrid. I thought it 
 most fearfully dismal." 
 
 " Ah ! but now ?" exclaimed the Marquise, 
 " you like it really ? you like it ? Will you 
 not say so ? You must, you must !" 
 
 " Yes, of course I do. I think it is beau- 
 tiful ; up here at St. Hilaire especially."
 
 86 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Ah ! good boy ! dear child ! I knew you 
 would ; and you will love it, Gilbert, before 
 we let you go." 
 
 He laughed a little, and Morton went on : 
 " It must rain now and then, you know, 
 and a great deal too, else how should we have 
 the green trees and grass ? The sun is so - 
 hot, you see, Gilbert ; and yet we pique our- 
 selves on our vegetation. Even in England 
 I do not think I remember any finer verdure 
 than we can show you here." 
 
 " No, certainly not. It is wonderfully 
 luxuriant and beautiful." 
 
 " And of coarse/' continued the Marquise, 
 " that must come of rain ; see in Provence or 
 Languedoc on the other side of France, any- 
 where, everywhere, where the sun strikes 
 and it is dry and cloudless, how the meadow- 
 land is arid and bare, while here — look at our 
 lawn and at our roses, Gilbert, and at the 
 green hues of that acacia- tree I" 
 
 " Yes, it is wonderful. We have no fresher
 
 Daylight 87 
 
 green at Erie's Lynn than that/' said Gilbert. 
 " I think I shall like this country immensely, 
 aunt." 
 
 " Like !" exclaimed the Marquise enthusi- 
 astically. " No one likes the eoteaux of the 
 Pyrenees ; either you do not know them and 
 are unconscious of them and indifferent to 
 them, or you know them, have lived on them, 
 and love them." 
 
 " I think it is very beautiful," said Gilbert. 
 " I am sure I should be fond of the country 
 if it was my home." 
 
 " And you must be fond of it because it is 
 mine, dear child, and Morton's, and because we 
 mean to make you so happy here that you will 
 never wish to leave us, and go back, when you 
 must go, with sorrow. Shall we be able to man- 
 age it, Morton cher ? do you think we shall V' 
 
 " We shall try, at all events — and a propos, 
 I wonder what Gilbert would like to do now? 
 Will you come and see your room? and after 
 luncheon we might have a cigar and a stroll
 
 88 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 about the place, and look at the dogs and 
 hunters." 
 
 " Do ! take him away ! Dogs and cigars 
 and horses — of course those are the sort of 
 things that amuse two boj 7 s like you ; and 
 Morton has plenty to show you. Make your- 
 self at home, dear, and lead exactly the life 
 that pleases you, and walk or ride or any- 
 thing else you fancy, just when or where 
 you like. Morton will show you all his ways 
 of life, and as long as you stay among us 
 I am sure everything that is his is yours. I 
 think I can speak so much for him, and I 
 know I can for L^on — the Marquis I mean — 
 and myself. Make yourself as happy as you 
 can, dear boy — and — " she continued, putting 
 up her soft fingers to pat his cheek, — " when 
 you have an idle moment or a lazy moment ju:t 
 come back to your stupid old aunt, and lounge 
 away an hour in the corner of her sofa. You 
 will always be welcome, and you won't mind 
 Fanfan and Lu. ,;
 
 Daylight. 89 
 
 " I am sure I shall often avail myself of 
 that last permission," said Gilbert gallantly, 
 smiling at the pretended humility and pathos 
 with which she depreciated her own society 
 and herself. 
 
 " Will you, dear ? that's a good boy ! come 
 as often as you like then, and tell me all the 
 English gossip and scandal you can remember. 
 It will not be too old for me at all events, for 
 I have not heard any for many a day. And 
 now you are dying I know to be off together. 
 Give me another kiss, you great big fellow, 
 and go away." 
 
 Gilbert blushed a little as he obeyed this 
 request, bending his head that she might 
 touch his forehead softly with her lips again. 
 He was unaccustomed to the process — in- 
 formal demonstrations of affection at uncon- 
 ventional times being unheard of at Erie's 
 Lynn. 
 
 Morton too came close up to them now as 
 the Marquise stood with her sparkling fingers
 
 90 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 on Gilbert's shoulders, and, much to the 
 latter's astonishment, possessed himself of one 
 of her pretty hands, raised it to his lips with 
 deferential ceremony, and said, " Ah ! maman 
 cherie ! I shall be jealous of the big cousin if 
 you show him such favour as this." 
 
 " Bah !" she answered, laughing, but with a 
 tender look in her eyes as she turned them 
 upon Morton. " You may well be jealous. I 
 am pleased with this nephew of mine and 
 proud also. Look at him/' she continued, 
 touching the points of his hair, " how fair he 
 is, and tall and clear-complexioned. A 
 Deningham all over, not a bit an Erie. And 
 you, Morton, you brown fellow ! go along to 
 your Jeanne — to your fiancee — fickle one ! I 
 am not a bit proud of you, and I do not love 
 you at all at all, do I ? You spoilt boy ! Go 
 away both of you and leave Lu and Fanfan 
 to sleep in peace. Never mind them, Gilbert, 
 they will not growl at you after a little while, 
 and they very seldom bite. Good-bye I"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ST. HILAIRE. 
 
 IN the afternoon the Marquise went 
 out driving, the Marquis disap- 
 peared after his own concerns, and 
 Morton took Gilbert into the gardens, across 
 to the stables, to the kennels, and all over 
 the house. 
 
 The gardens were beautiful, sloping away 
 on each side of the chateau, and losing them- 
 selves in deep woody valleys where ornamental 
 trees grew luxuriantly, and through which 
 winding paths led to the cool shades by the 
 gurgling waters that ran in the lowest depth 
 of each.
 
 92 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 The gardens were in the last glory of their 
 autumn bloom, still brilliant with geraniums, 
 verbenas, and roses, with magnificent hy- 
 drangeas, with the beautiful magnolia and 
 the graceful shrinking mimosa, all blooming 
 with a luxury of verdure and variety of 
 delicate hue such as we see not in our chillier 
 climes. 
 
 Large forcing beds of lilies of the valley and 
 of violets, white, purple, or rich and sweet- 
 scented Parma, were being nurtured under a 
 south wall with infinite care, all destined to 
 bloom forth with luxury and abundance at 
 the earliest breath of spring. In the long 
 ^lass-houses and surrounding the garden the 
 azalea and camellia trees sloped in banks of 
 intense verdure, hiding under their velvet 
 leaves countless buds that gave promise of a 
 rich show of brilliant colouring in the winter 
 months to come. 
 
 Before March was over they would be 
 banked against the house, in the open air,
 
 St. Hilaire. 93 
 
 round the porch and windows, blooming 
 luxuriantly and unsheltered as the peony 
 in an English June. Glass and hot-houses 
 are little needed in a country where the 
 purple grape ripens large and luxurious round 
 the porch of the peasant's cottage, and where 
 the cherry and the plum-trees form the hedges 
 of the public way. 
 
 From the Hower-garden they strolled on to 
 the stables, where Morton's hunters stood ready 
 for the winter, when they would all move to 
 Pau, for hunting and for gaiety as well. 
 
 Morton's English groom was a native of 
 Erie's Lynn, and had been sent out from 
 there some years ago to superintend the 
 " Ecurie ' on the Pyrenees ; and it amused 
 Gilbert immensely to find how much at home 
 he had grown, how accustomed to his French 
 surroundings and his Bearnais strappers, to 
 whom he chattered volubly a curious stable 
 jargon in which the Sussex burr mingled 
 oddly with his peculiar modification of the
 
 94 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 dialect of Beam. The establishment, however, 
 was admirable, and the horses stood, as 
 Gilbert observed, " in as neat a stable as he 
 could wish to see." 
 
 There were three hunters in capital condi- 
 tion, looking, as he remarked, " very fit and 
 quite ready for work ;" and there was a 
 steady-looking old cover-hack, glorying in the 
 name of Dinah, whom Morton exhibited with 
 especial pride. 
 
 " She is as tame as an old house-dog," he 
 said, as he patted her ]ovingly, and she turned 
 to rub her nose against his shoulder. "I 
 have ridden her for years, Gilbert, to the 
 cover-side and up and down the coteaux here. 
 I have no doubt she spent most of her life in 
 Rotten Row before I got her, for I bought her 
 of a game old Briton who shipped her out 
 here by Bordeaux, and rode her for constitu- 
 tional benefit up and down the soft bit in the 
 Allee de Morlaas daily for a whole season. I 
 used to be exercising my hunters there on the
 
 St. Hilaire. 95 
 
 off-days and fell in love with her, and when 
 the month of May came I found the old 
 fellow glad enough to be spared the money of 
 her passage home, and so I bought her. Is 
 she not a beauty, eh V 
 
 " She is a dear old beast," said Gilbert, 
 smoothing down the pony's fat sides with 
 a familiar touch, which she acknowledged on 
 her side by a plunge at Morton's coat-sleeve 
 and a whisk of her short docked tail. 
 
 "Dear old pony!" Morton continued. "Will 
 you stand still ? You can ride her, you know, 
 Gilbert, as much as ever you like. She is the 
 best for the country over here. The hunters 
 are too fresh to be pleasant for jogging up and 
 down these steep hills. Joe and I exercise 
 them in a paddock I have made down in 
 the hollows, and so keep all their energies 
 ready for the real work on the other 
 side." 
 
 " How on earth can you hunt in this sort of 
 country V exclaimed Gilbert suddenly. "Any-
 
 96 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 thing I have seen yet would be impossible 
 ground, worse than the toughest bit v of Irish 
 hill and heather I ever scrambled over." 
 
 " Ah ! but you have not seen the other 
 side — away beyond Pau, on the flats of the 
 Landes ; there are lots of capital runs to be 
 had. A fine wide stretch of country with 
 nothing to bother you but little ditches 
 and bits of crumbly bank and wall. You 
 soon get accustomed to it, and I assure 
 you we have capital sport ; have we not, 
 Joe V 
 
 " Well, my lord !" responded Joe, who 
 always insisted on addressing Morton in this 
 style, describing him as " the Wiscount." " I 
 don't say of course as how it is like the Minting 
 of the shires, and Sir Gilbert must not expect 
 to get runs with us such as he'd 'ave with the 
 Pytchley, or on t' other side the country with 
 the Dook of Beaufort's hunt ; but if as how 
 he'll be moderate in his expectations, I think, 
 my lord, we'll manage to show him as pretty
 
 St. Hilaire. 
 
 a piece of sport now and again in the course 
 of the winter as he might see with any 
 ordinary English pack. And that I can 
 say for the 'unt of Pau, Sir Gilbert, and that 
 I will* 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said Gilbert. 
 " But somehow the climate and the style of 
 things about here do not suggest hunting to 
 my mind ; hard riding under this sunshine 
 must be tough work — it does not feel like it. 
 But still, Morton, these three animals look 
 like business, and would do a good day's 
 work for you in any shire." 
 
 " They would, Sir Gilbert. And they have 
 sometimes got work to do," continued Joe : 
 "them stony banks and blind ditches and 
 hedgy walls about the flats across there need 
 a wideawake rider and a tidy 'orse, I assure 
 you, sir. They gets lots of croppers, some of 
 them queer 'untsmen who turns out with us ; 
 they jog along quite 'appy sometimes with 
 the ladies o' a morning, Sir Gilbert, and 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 show up as smart as a gentleman rider o* 
 Astley's Circus, with their butting-holes and 
 the tight spring in the back o' their vermilion 
 coats, but I a' seen a one or two o' them 
 crawling 'ome a werry battered spectacle o' 
 an evening, sir, when I would not like to 
 'ave 'ad the clay-piping o' their white breeches 
 to do over again, or the blacking o' their 
 French polished boots, let alone that I don't 
 think a second-hand purchaser, Sir Gilbert, o' 
 old 'unting 'ats would a given sixpence for 
 the curly-rimmed tiles o' theirs smashed up 
 as they was." 
 
 Gilbert and Morton both burst into a fit of 
 laughter at Joe's irony and venom. 
 
 "A terrible and most graphic description, 
 Joe. But I should think these three would 
 carry you steadily, Morton. How did you 
 pick them up T 
 
 " They are always to be picked up here," 
 said Morton. " Men bring them out, and 
 then grudge to take them back again, just as
 
 St. Hilaire. 99 
 
 in old Dinah's case. That is an Irishman, 
 that big-boned fellow ; I call him Mike. A 
 man rode him here one season, and I kept 
 my eye upon him many a day when he led 
 the hunt ; he was only a four-year-old then, 
 and I have had two capital winters with 
 him since. The other pair of darlings I got 
 only last spring — they are sisters ; f Minna 
 and Brenda' mother christened them. Beau- 
 ties, are they not? Such a perfect brown, 
 every inch of them, except the black forehead 
 stars. Well, a fellow brought them out about 
 Christmas- time last year, and swaggered 
 enormously with them in a little mail-phaeton. 
 He was all over the place ; giving himself 
 out as a great swell, and taking the shine out 
 of everybody ; of course, in about a month he 
 knocked up — proved a humbug and totally 
 impecunious. He could not pay his hotel 
 bill, and so his smart little turn-out was 
 seized. Joe suspected him from the first, 
 you must know, and used to wink in the 
 
 7—2
 
 100 TJie Sun-Maid. 
 
 most diabolical manner as the fellow sat in 
 great magnificence of a band-day on the 
 Place Royale, holding the reins of these 
 pretty sisters with the tips of his lilac kids ; 
 and before it was well known about the 
 town and clubs that our smart friend was 
 insolvent, Joe had stepped in and bought up 
 the pair for me. He advised me to try them 
 in the saddle, and I did ; they are perfect for 
 a light weight, and I have hunted them 
 gently very often. Time enough to put you 
 into harness again when you are steady old 
 ladies and on the wane, is it not, my pets ? 
 Quiet, Minna ! So, Brenda ! quiet, mon 
 Bijou, quiet." 
 
 " They are perfect beauties, I must say," 
 said Gilbert. 
 
 " I am afraid," continued Morton, " they 
 are too light to carry you comfortably, Gilbert, 
 but you shall have Mike the whole of this 
 winter entirely for yourself; he will bear 
 sixteen stone easily, and I have no doubt Joe
 
 St. Hilaire. 101 
 
 will ferret us out another hunter nearly as 
 good and as well up to your weight before 
 the season comes on." 
 
 " My dear fellow," exclaimed Gilbert, 
 " thanks a thousand times ! But I am not 
 going to take up my abode here, Morton ; it 
 is only the end of September. I fancy I 
 shall be back in the old country by the time 
 the hunting sets fairly in." 
 
 " Ah," replied Morton, smiling, " we will 
 see about that. We don't mean to let you 
 away so easily now we have caught you, mon 
 cousin ; and besides, do not decide anything 
 till you have tried us all. Some people have 
 found Pau, you know, a very difficult place 
 from which to go away, but we shall see. 
 Come out now, Gilbert ; the sun is setting 
 already : how we have idled away the after- 
 noon ! and I have lots more to show you. 
 Come along." 
 
 The stable formed one side of a neat court- 
 yard, of which coach-house and servants'
 
 102 The' Sun-Maid. 
 
 apartments and a very showy harness-room 
 filled up the other three. A wide gate 
 hung across the entrance, and just as they 
 reached this the Marquise's barouche turned 
 slow]y in, drawn by a splendid pair of dark 
 bays, and driven by a fat coachman, of whom 
 the only insignia of his nationality, beyond his 
 grey-hued good-tempered " Bearnais" face, 
 were the coloured cockade that adorned his 
 hat and the cut of the epaulets on his 
 shoulders. Except this, the carriage and 
 its appointments were dark, plain, and hand- 
 some as could be. The Marquise's coronet 
 and monogram were visible on the panels, for 
 her husband liked to see them emblazoned 
 everywhere, though they were by no means 
 remarkable or obtrusive. 
 
 " My mother has come in, I see," said 
 Morton ; "we will go round and join her 
 presently ; she will be taking exercise on the 
 terrace in behalf of Fanfan and Lu. But 
 come down this way a little first. See what
 
 St. Hilaire. 103 
 
 a good view of the mountains opens from the 
 back of the courtyard ; and here is my pad- 
 dock down below. Look, I have three pro- 
 mising young animals in there." 
 
 He leant his arms on the top rail of the 
 paddock-gate as he spoke, and Gilbert, full of 
 interest — keener, indeed, for the paddock and 
 its inmates than for the view — leant beside 
 him. 
 
 " Very handsome colts," he said. " That 
 grey one has a splendid shoulder." 
 
 " Yes. I think they will turn out well, 
 Joe is such a famous fellow with horses. I 
 have never ceased to be grateful to you, Gil- 
 bert, for sending him out." 
 
 " The favour was as much to him as to 
 you," said Gilbert. " He seems perfectly 
 happy, and looks most ridiculous, but very 
 much at home." 
 
 " Oh, he gets on very well, and I often 
 laugh as I come suddenly to the yard some- 
 times and overhear him talking 'Bearnais' or
 
 104 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 French ; it is wonderful how he has picked 
 them up. "What do you think of that little 
 bay, Gilbert ? She is three years turned this 
 autumn, and comes of a capital stock. Joe 
 and I think of entering her for the flat race 
 at the spring meeting this year ; but what do 
 you think V 
 
 "Race!" exclaimed Gilbert. "Do you go 
 in for that too down, here ?" 
 
 " Don't we ! wait till you see. We do, 
 indeed, go in for it, and a good deal too much 
 so for a good many of us, I can tell you ; but 
 that is not my line, you know, except in a 
 very amateur way. The flat race is for 
 gentlemen's hunters, and I should like my 
 Brilliante to proclaim herself the best at Pau, 
 that is all. Oh ! the races are greafc fun, and 
 about as pretty a sight in some ways as you 
 could wish to see." 
 
 " Only fancy I" said Gilbert. " How odd 
 it seems ! Racing and hunting were about 
 the last things I thought of in coming down
 
 St. Hilaire. 105 
 
 here. I had no idea you were such a sport- 
 ing community." 
 
 " Oh, we are everything ! Wait till you 
 have seen us all ; we will astonish you, I 
 dare say, in more ways than one. But what 
 do you think of the little filly V 
 
 " I think she is uncommonly pretty/' said 
 Gilbert. " Trim as could be every way, and 
 with a very graceful head. She ' looks like 
 going ' too, Morton. That is an easy swing- 
 ing canter of hers. I fancy she could go at 
 any pace." 
 
 " I believe she would. We will have her 
 out one morning with the saddle on, and let 
 Joe try her a bit. He is a capital little light- 
 weight, and is very eager about the race. 
 And now I think we have pretty well done 
 the stables, and may as well go round to the 
 other side of the house. But look a moment, 
 Gilbert, is not that a glorious view ? Look 
 at the snow now with that red light upon 
 it. I am very fond of this old gate ; I often
 
 106 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 smoke a cheroot here to look at the sunset 
 and watch the colts scampering in the field. 
 I declare I think they like it too, they always 
 get so frisky on a fine evening, and you can 
 hardly get them in. Look ! is not that fine ? 
 where the pics run up into the crimson sky." 
 
 " It is splendid," said Gilbert ; and so it 
 was. The mountains had the flush of the 
 evening upon them now, and the shadows 
 had deepened, and the lights were golden 
 down in the woody valleys below. 
 
 " These mountains are glorious I" said Gil- 
 bert. " How I long to explore them ! Can 
 one not go and scramble about in the snows ? 
 I should like to get to the top of that fine 
 fellow throwing his head up into the clouds 
 away there." 
 
 " The Pic du Midi," said Morton. " No, it 
 is too late in the year for that ; you must 
 wait for the spring, then we will make lots of 
 ascensions, as they say here, and explore as 
 many mountains and passes as you like. You
 
 St. Ililaire. 107 
 
 must see the waterfalls too — the Gavarnie 
 and all the rest, and you must see the Eaux 
 Chaudes, and the Eaux Bonnes and Argeles, 
 and the lakes of Artouste and Orredon and 
 Seculeijo, and many more besides. Oh ! you 
 will have plenty to do in the exploring line if 
 you will only have patience, but we cannot 
 let you go off among the winter snows." 
 
 " One could look for ever at this view I" 
 exclaimed Gilbert impulsively, fired with a 
 sudden enthusiasm of enjoyment. 
 
 " Yes," said Morton, taking out his little 
 dainty embroidered case, " provided always 
 one has a cigar. Here, take one ; there 
 is something in this sort of evening that 
 suggests to my mind tobacco. There — I 
 thoroughly enjoy it now. That snowy back- 
 ground is splendid, and I am very fond of 
 the comfortable foreground of habitations also. 
 I am essentially a sociable being, Gilbert ; I 
 like the feeling that one has neighbours all 
 close about."
 
 108 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Yes ; what quantities there are ! Who 
 lives in all these houses ? I am sure we could 
 count the smokes of a dozen on these different 
 little hills." 
 
 " Yes, there are quite as many. They are 
 all chateaux — neighbours — different people — 
 families large and small. Look! that is my 
 little Jeanne's house there, away over the 
 shoulder of the farthest coteau. Do you 
 see ? where the green bit of sloping bank 
 comes in above the oak woods, and where 
 the smoke is rising from a lot of chimneys. 
 You must be introduced, Gilbert, to little 
 Jeanne." 
 
 " Yes ; I am looking forward with interest 
 and curiosity to the introduction, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, you will have the opportunity to- 
 morrow night ; we are to have a dinner-party. 
 I wonder, by-the-bye, who are coming alto- 
 gether ; I must ask my mother when we go 
 in. I know Jeanne is, but I forgot to inquire 
 about anybody else."
 
 St. Hilaire. 109 
 
 " A dinner-party !" exclaimed Gilbert. 
 
 " Yes ; we are always having them here. 
 Just the neighbours, you know ; the people 
 round, and a few, perhaps, from Pau, and 
 little Jeanne, and her father and mother, of 
 course, and I dare say her eldest sister will 
 come, and I should not wonder if we had the 
 Baron Keffel. He lives in the little villa on 
 that hill opposite, and my mother is wonder- 
 fully fond of him. Gome, Gilbert, it is about 
 dinner-time, shall we be strolling home ?" 
 
 So the cousins had idled away that first 
 afternoon, and they got back to the terrace 
 below the drawing-room windows too late to 
 find the Marquise there. She had gone in, 
 after the walk which she took daily accom- 
 panied by Lu, Fanfan, and a large Pyrenean 
 mastiff, up and down between the garden and 
 the house, on the terrace flanked by stiff 
 borders, and by tall plaster vases filled with 
 geraniums and with many other rich-coloured 
 sweet-scented flowers.
 
 110 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 From here the view stretched eastward ; it 
 was the opposite side of the house from the 
 stableyard, and the Pic de Bigorre turned 
 its western shoulder upon them now, with 
 low hills and wooded valleys lying between. 
 The thick foliage of the oak and beech trees 
 made many a shady corner in the bank that 
 sloped below the garden ; a winding serpent 
 pathway lost itself in their shadow and disap- 
 peared into the hollow beneath, and following 
 the direction of this hidden track, the eye 
 reached the pointed roof of a picturesque 
 little house (very different in character from 
 any other on the coteaux) that lay embowered 
 in woody verdure about half a mile away. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Morton, observing the 
 direction of Gilbert's gaze, " that is the chalet, 
 a pretty little place — a fancy of my father's ; 
 and an expensive toy it was too, till Madame 
 Zophee arrived among us, took it and made it 
 her home. You must see it one of these days, 
 and Madame Zophee too."
 
 St. Hilaire. Ill 
 
 "Madame who?' 3 said Gilbert, to whom 
 everybody's name, as it came fresh upon him, 
 was a matter of difficulty and amazement. 
 
 " Madame Zophia Petrovna Yariazinka, 
 that is her little designation," said Morton, 
 laughing. " But she is kind enough to be 
 satisfied with Madame Zophee alone from our 
 heretic lips, unworthy and unable as they are 
 to compete with the euphonious and difficult 
 nomenclature of Holy Russia. A very nice 
 person she is, the little Madame. You must 
 see her some day soon ; she has lived there 
 for years, and we are all devoted to her — -I 
 as tenderly as Jeanne will allow me ; my 
 father and mother with an adoration that is 
 characteristic of them and of her. Do you 
 like our croquet-ground, Gilbert ? You can 
 see it capitally from here. Look ! it is that 
 flat on the top of the rising bank there, be- 
 yond the rose-walk. These large trees make 
 a delicious shadow of an afternoon, and the 
 view is beautiful. My mother spends many
 
 112 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 an hour upon these garden-chairs, and in the 
 summer-time it is our evening drawing-room ; 
 we have tea or coffee there while my father 
 plays his favourite game ; you cannot think 
 how fond he is of croquet. Come, let us go 
 in now, it is getting very late."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BY A LOG FIRE. 
 
 HATEAU DE ST. HILAIRE was 
 
 not a very large house. It was 
 picturesque and old-fashioned and. 
 castellated, presenting an appearance of much 
 dignity as it towered in its lofty position on 
 the crest of the sloping hill, but its rooms 
 were not numerous, neither were their pro- 
 portions great. The hall was handsome, 
 and so was the dining-room, while the 
 violet boudoir of the Marquise was as exqui- 
 site and as luxurious as her bower in the 
 house in town. The smoking-room too was 
 vol. i. 8
 
 114 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 excellent ; and the large drawing-room, where 
 the Marquise sat, presented a delicious combi- 
 nation of artistic elegance and domestic com- 
 fort as the three gentlemen joined her there 
 that evening in the after-dinner hour. 
 
 It was a lofty room, with beautiful old 
 fresco walls and ceiling, of which the rich 
 mouldings were picked out in delicate colour- 
 ing by an Italian artist in the days of an 
 extravagant Marquis de St. Hilaire, several 
 generations ago. Some courtly old family 
 portraits of lovely daughters and brave sons 
 of the house adorned the panels, the colouring 
 of their dresses and uniforms, the bloom of 
 their bright faces and the hue of their softly- 
 powdered hair, harmonising well with the 
 walls and fresco frames, which had all indeed 
 been toned to suit them. There was a quan- 
 tity of antique furniture in the room, fauteuils 
 and sofas of Louis XIII. , artistic and unin- 
 viting ; but these were pushed back and 
 ranged to advantage with the Sevres panelled
 
 By a Log Fire. 115 
 
 cabinets and the tables of old marqueterie, 
 round the outskirts of the room, while the 
 window where Madame sat in the daytime, 
 and the wide fireplace where she was now 
 cosily ensconced, were surrounded by many 
 little couches and chairs, low, well stuffed, 
 and luxurious, according to those modern 
 fashions which have substituted cretonne and 
 comfort for damask and gilt. 
 
 And there behind a transparent glass screen 
 sat the Marquise, near an enormous bright- 
 burning log fire. The chimney was open and 
 grateless, in the old French manner to which 
 she clung, loving it ever as familiar and pic- 
 turesque, and repudiating the rapid inroad 
 which took place around thern of modern 
 grates and coal. The room was softly lit by 
 small lamps shaded with rose-colour — the 
 tone the Marquise preferred always — the one 
 she considered became her best. Her even- 
 ing toilette was very pretty, her hair seemed 
 in this light more snowy than ever, her face 
 
 8-2
 
 1 1 6 The San-Maid. 
 
 younger, and her eyes more sparkling and 
 bright. She looked busy and happy as they 
 entered, her fingers working nimbly among 
 her heap of gay-coloured wools, her glance 
 wandering continually to Fanfan and Lulu, 
 who both slumbered peaceably on the rug 
 now, in the full glow and heat of the crack- 
 ling fire. A warm atmosphere diffused itself 
 around her as she sat in view of the cheerful 
 blaze sheltered by her glass screen, and the 
 air of the room was pleasantly pervaded by 
 the faint sweet scent of violets and roses 
 which always seemed to float round the Mar- 
 quise, and to permeate everything that be- 
 longed to her with a delicate perfume that 
 ever reminded one of — herself. 
 
 She looked up brightly as the three entered. 
 The post-bag had come in since dinner-time, 
 and the Marquis and Morton turned to the 
 round table where it lay and proceeded to 
 examine and peruse its contents. Morton 
 found letters and newspapers, and was soon
 
 By a Log Fire. 117 
 
 absorbed in them, but the old gentleman 
 found little to induce the delay of his evening 
 sleep. He sank into a huge chair just oppo- 
 site to Madame, and after nodding to her 
 gently two or three times, and smiling amiably 
 in recognition of her affectionate glance, he 
 soon dropped quietly away (with his fat hands 
 folded across his person) into most profound 
 repose. 
 
 The Marquise beckoned Gilbert to the sofa 
 beside her. He smiled with a sense of plea- 
 sure and of admiration as he sat down, and 
 looked from her to her embroidery frame 
 and to the pile of soft wools which he had to 
 push away to make room for himself. He 
 thought of his mother again, as she also 
 worked continually on the fireside sofa at 
 home, and he thought of her works — which 
 were always coarse shawls and muffetees for 
 the poor of Erie's Lynn — and of her colours, 
 all hard and grey. Then he watched his aunt 
 curiously. Her wools were all soft, many-
 
 118 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 hued, and brilliant, and her work was a 
 shepherdess on a velvet background, tending 
 most remarkable sheep and listening to a sing- 
 ing swain. When she tired of this, or on 
 Saints' days, the Marquise stitched at a 
 broidered vestment for the parish priest — a 
 wonderful piece of work of woven gold and 
 silver and filosel that was alike a credit to her 
 piety and her skill. To-night it was the 
 frame and the shepherdess, and as Gilbert 
 approached her she bent over it and said to 
 him in a soft tone : 
 
 " Sit by me, dear boy, I like to have you. I 
 like to see you and hear you talk. You re- 
 mind me of old, old times, Gilbert, you do so 
 resemble my own family and the brothers of 
 my early days. There was your uncle, my 
 youngest brother ; you are exactly like him. 
 Poor Frank ! he was years my junior and 
 Anna's. He was kind when I married, and 
 promised to come and see me here. But he 
 never did ; he went to India, you know, with
 
 By a Log Fire. 119 
 
 his regiment, and fell in battle. A brave 
 fellow, a real Deningham — a dear boy I You 
 are wonderfully like him. These are old days 
 I am speaking of, Gilbert, before you were 
 born. Soon after that event my eldest 
 brother died, and the title went away to 
 cousins. Poor Frank ! it would all have been 
 his if he had lived. Does your mother ever 
 talk of these old times, dear child V 
 
 " No, aunt," he answered hesitatingly, " T 
 do not think she does." 
 
 " What does she talk of, then ? generally I 
 mean ; of you, I fancy ? and your future and 
 your marriage, and the brilliant figure you 
 are to make as the county M.P. — eh, Gil- 
 bert r 
 
 " No, that is not the sort of thing either," 
 he replied. " My mother is a very quiet 
 person, Aunt Violet : she never does talk 
 much. She is very good, but then — it is in a 
 way of her own. She is very — what they call 
 serious, you know."
 
 120 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " I know," said the Marquise. " And I — I 
 am a gabbling silly old thing, and that is just 
 what she would think me, and that is just 
 what she thought me when I was a girl ; then 
 I was a silly young thing, and that was all 
 the difference. Well, Gilbert, I may be. I 
 do not set up for anything better than my 
 neighbours. But, God helping me, I have been 
 as good a wife to my L^on there as she could 
 have been to old Sir Stanton ; and, Heaven 
 knows, I have loved my children as well as 
 Anna can have loved you, her only precious 
 one : though I dare say we have had a dif- 
 ferent way of showing it, and of altogether 
 acting out our lives." 
 
 " I dare say you have," said Gilbert 
 dreamily, for he was thinking, as she spoke, 
 of that strange young life of his in the past — 
 of its solitude, and of its narrow scope for all 
 affections and powers. 
 
 " I have thought and thought for my 
 children unceasingly," the Marquise con-
 
 By a Log Fire. 121 
 
 tinued, " and studied their dispositions and 
 calculated the probabilities of their lives. 
 Has Anna done the same for you, Gilbert ?" 
 
 " In her own way, no doubt she has," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Then has she moulded her own prejudices 
 and opinions according to the character she 
 saw you possessed ? I wonder if she «has 
 now ? I wonder much, because there is 
 something unusual about you, cheri, some- 
 thing of inexperience and want of free de- 
 velopment, that is uncommon in a young 
 Englishman of twenty-five, and I marvel to 
 myself if Anna has considered you indi- 
 vidually and characteristically in your up- 
 bringing, or only her own prejudices and 
 herself. What does she think about your 
 marriage, Gilbert ?" 
 
 " I do not suppose," he answered, laughing 
 a little at this astute analysis of his education 
 and of himself — "I do not suppose she is 
 thinking about it at all, aunt."
 
 122 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " She must be ! I am certain it is never 
 out of her mind." 
 
 " Well," he assented doubtfully, " she may 
 be contemplating with aversion a great many 
 people whom, according to her, I am not to 
 marry ; but I do not imagine I have ever 
 seen anybody whom it is possible that she 
 can think I am." 
 
 " Well, well, it is time you were range, 
 Gilbert, and I can quite imagine to myself 
 that that is just the very subject on which 
 Anna would be difficult and unmanageable. 
 Dieu ! do not I remember when I married 
 that good L^on ! and I dare say she is not 
 much improved in breadth of mind and in 
 toleration since then." 
 
 " I must say she has her prejudices," said 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " Well, listen : look here," continued his 
 aunt rapidly ; " / had my prejudices — I had 
 my beau ideal. I wanted Morton to be an 
 Englishman in his marriage, and to bring me
 
 By a Log Fire. 123 
 
 an English daughter here to the Pyrenees ; 
 and, above all, I wished Ada to go home, and 
 be as I was in ray young days, in one of 
 those beautiful homes of the old country 
 which I have never ceased to love. But I 
 soon realised that Morton was Bearnais in 
 everything but his name and his tailor, and 
 Ada a petite Francaise to the points of .her 
 toes; so I gave it up at once, Gilbert, I did ! 
 And Ada married Hene" de la Garonne ; and 
 now Morton will be settled, in a few months, 
 with little Jeanne de Veuil. You must see 
 Jeanne, Gilbert ; and Ada will come here be- 
 fore Christmas, I hope, to see all of us, and 
 particularly you." 
 
 " Jeanne is coming to-morrow night," said 
 Morton, suddenly looking up from where, 
 sunk in the depth of a huge chair, he was 
 perusing Le Gaulois by the light of a distant 
 lamp ; the name in the last sentence had 
 caught his ear. 
 
 " Yes, she is coming. By-the-bye, we have
 
 124 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 never told Gilbert there was gaiety in store 
 for him to-morrow." 
 
 "I told him of the dinner-party when we 
 were out to-dav " said Morton. " and he made 
 a grimace over it, I can tell you too." 
 
 " Ah ! the dinner-party !" cried the Mar- 
 quis, waking up with a jump and joining in 
 the conversation. " To what proportion has 
 it grown, Violette ? I know your ways I 
 How many people are you going to put into 
 the dining-room to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Oh, you be tranquil, Leon ! no one at 
 whom you will growl — a pleasant pot-pourri 
 of Pau and the neighbourhood, and of 
 national varieties that I think will do Gil- 
 bert's education good to meet. Let me see, 
 there are Comte and Comtesse de Beaulieu, 
 there is little Jeanne and her sister, and 
 Monsieur and Madame de Veuil, there is 
 Baron Keffel and Bebe Beresford, and there 
 is the big English cuirassier Hanleigh, and 
 Mrs. and Miss Carlisle, and — last, but
 
 By a Log Fire. 125 
 
 not least — Madame Zoph^e has promised 
 faithfully that if the evening is at all fine 
 she will come ; then we are three gentlemen 
 and one lady in the house — and that makes 
 us sixteen. Why, that is nothing, Leon ! 
 what will you have V 
 
 " Ah, Madame Zoph^e ! then you will see 
 her; that is famous, Gilbert!" said Morton. 
 "The little 'Solava,' the nightingale, as Baron 
 Keffel calls her in one of his six words of 
 Russian. I am glad indeed. It is not often 
 she can be got out of her nest." 
 
 "No, but she has promised she will really 
 come to-morrow, and I think she will keep 
 her w T ord." 
 
 " And Be'be — that is capital ; and the big 
 dragoon, the cuirassier, as you call him : I did 
 not know you had asked them," said Morton. 
 
 " My dear, we must have had pendants for 
 the Carlisles, and they have sat on my con- 
 science for the last month like — " 
 
 " Crows on a handrail," suggested Morton,
 
 126 The Sim-Maid. 
 
 for which speech he was instantly snubbed by 
 his father. 
 
 " Why do you laugh, Morton ? Excellent 
 persons ! Fi done !" 
 
 "Fi done ! indeed, you naughty boy !" cried 
 his mother, laughing, as she held up a finger 
 at him. "You shall have Miss Carlisle to 
 take in to dinner for your impertinence, and 
 Gilbert shall have Jeanne — " 
 
 " No, no !" cried Morton. " I could not 
 stand that. Gilbert, indeed ! I should be 
 furious with jealousy the whole time, and 
 should most probably throw a plate at his 
 head. No, no ! Jeanne for me, if you please : 
 all the privileges of my position, or what is 
 the fun of being engaged ?" 
 
 " And whom, then, is your cousin to con- 
 duct?" said the Marquis, with austerity, for 
 he thought Morton's tongue was running 
 away with him in a manner far too flippant 
 for so serious a subject as one of his mother's 
 dinner-parties.
 
 By a Log Fire. 127 
 
 " Oh, he shall have his choice of all of 
 them, barring Jeanne," said Morton. " He 
 may have Miss Carlisle and her fifty thousand 
 pounds if he likes, or he may conduct my 
 future mother-in-law." 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the Marquise. 
 " Gilbert shall take no one in but my own 
 little pet, Zophee, to whom I have boasted of 
 my handsome nephew this livelong afternoon, 
 and as she is almost the only one of the party 
 who can speak English fit to be understood 
 she is the best one for him to have, if only 
 on that account." 
 
 " Well, well, so let it be, madre mia, and 
 I do not think Gilbert will fare badly. I 
 cannot say I pity him. If I were not Alex- 
 ander, I'd certainly be Diogenes. I mean if I 
 were not to have my own little Jeanne, I'd 
 have Madame Zophee before any one." 
 
 " Temporarily and permanently," said the 
 Marquise emphatically. " But fancy compar- 
 ing my mignonne Zophee to Diogenes !"
 
 128 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Or Jeannette to Alexander !" answered 
 Morton, laughing, as he rose to light his 
 mothers candle, while she, calling her dogs 
 and gathering up her wool work, prepared to 
 leave the room.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 INCOGNITA. 
 
 EXT day a drive with his uncle in 
 the stanhope across the coteau 
 towards Gans and Louvie occupied 
 for Gilbert the hours after lunch. Then he 
 gave the Marquise his arm, as she requested, in 
 her promenade up and down the terrace, while 
 the sun set over the mountains behind St. 
 Hilaire, casting a ruddy light across the hills 
 that lay around them, and on the blue smoke 
 curling from Madame Zophee's house. 
 
 Before dinner he disappeared to his own 
 room, where Baptiste had established himself 
 vol. i. 9
 
 130 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 as his special valet, and where all the prepara- 
 tions for a most elaborate toilet were already 
 made. Gilbert got rid of Baptiste for the 
 time being, assuring him that he took not 
 twenty minutes to dress, and that it wanted 
 still an hour of dinner-time ; and then, ex- 
 tinguishing half the candles with which that 
 anxious attendant had illuminated the room, 
 he threw himself into the huge chair by the 
 fireplace, intending to rouse up his energies in 
 a few minutes, and to write to his mother 
 before beginning to dress. Meantime he 
 would revolve what he should say to her, 
 and thoughts chased each other through his 
 mind. 
 
 He laughed to himself as he realised how 
 difficult, and indeed how undesirable, it would 
 be to bestow upon her in the least a detailed 
 or veracious description of the inmates or 
 surroundings of St. Hilaire. Nothing could 
 mske her understand them, and everything 
 would seem to her " outlandish," for so he
 
 Incognita. 131 
 
 knew she would express it. Everything 
 here was contrary to the spirit of her reflec- 
 tions in every way. He knew she would 
 call the Marquis " a frivolous old man," and 
 Morton " empty-headed and unregenerate." 
 Above all, how could he confess to her that 
 he was much more than half in love with his 
 aunt — that reprobate daughter of the Red 
 Lady, or how describe her in the charming 
 and delightful light in which she appeared to 
 him? 
 
 He grew drowsy as these difficulties arose, 
 and he kept on planning the sentences within 
 his brain by which he would impart to her — 
 simply that the country was after all beau- 
 tiful ; that life at St. Hilaire pleased him ; 
 that his relations were kind ; and that he 
 should not wonder if he lingered a little, and 
 whiled away a few desultory weeks here 
 before he went farther on his travels or 
 returned again home. So he mused very 
 drowsily indeed, and the occupation must 
 
 9—2
 
 132 The Sim- Maid. 
 
 have been an agreeable if a passive one, for 
 the time slipped somehow imperceptibly 
 away, and suddenly Baptiste broke in upon 
 him with a hasty knock, an immediate 
 entrance, and the intimation that it was ten 
 minutes to the dinner-hour. 
 
 Gilbert managed to achieve his toilet in 
 very little over that time — entirely to his 
 own satisfaction, if not to Baptiste's ; and 
 he even found a moment, as he was run- 
 ning downstairs, to put into his buttonhole 
 an exquisite little bouquet of jessamine and 
 stephanotis he had found ready. A pretty 
 attention of the Marquise, as Baptiste in- 
 formed him; she had laid it on his dressing- 
 table herself. 
 
 He entered the drawing-room to find it 
 full of people — and all perfect strangers to 
 him. It was a moment calculated to induce 
 a state of hopeless shyness on his part, 
 if it had been the least in his disposition to 
 become shy. Happily it was not so : in fact,
 
 Incognita. 133 
 
 quite the reverse. He had known few people 
 in his life, but these he had known so well 
 that a sort of unthinking confidence in himself 
 and in every one about him — a ready frank- 
 ness in intercourse with acquaintances new 
 and old — had become habitual as second 
 nature to him ; an effect upon a character 
 like his, not of great knowledge of the world, 
 but of little. He smiled into every counte- 
 nance he met as upon the face of a friend ; 
 and he held out his hand with a ready and 
 instinctive cordiality that aroused always from 
 the other side an immediate and similar re- 
 sponse. Thus he was apt to say that he "liked 
 everybody," and he was ever ready to in- 
 crease his acquaintance with an unsuspicious 
 alacrity that made to him acquaintance, and 
 even friendship, a thing of rapid growth. 
 
 So he came into the room now, and met 
 his aunt's scolding and salutation with a 
 laughing apology for his tardiness, which he 
 delivered without any apparent conscious-
 
 134 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 ness that every eye in the room was turned 
 curiously upon him ; for of course every friend 
 of the Marquise was curious as to the looks 
 and manner and entire personnel of this 
 newly-arrived nephew of hers. 
 
 "I am not so very late, am I?" he said. " I 
 hope I am not the very last !" 
 
 " Not quite, but nearly, you lazy boy ! I 
 have been wanting you this last ten minutes. 
 See ! I must present you to all my dear 
 friends, and there is not a moment now ; only 
 Madame Zophee to come, and then dinner. 
 You unkind boy ! Whom shall I take you to 
 first ? Let me see." 
 
 This last was sotto voce, as she wheeled 
 round the room, resting her hand on his, 
 and glancing over the circle of her assembled 
 guests. Then she began : 
 
 "Madame la Comtesse de Beaulieu, allow 
 me the honour of presenting to you my 
 nephew, Sir Gilbert Erie." 
 
 This was to a stiff little old lady, well-
 
 Incognita. 135 
 
 dressed and well-preserved, who sat very bolt 
 upright on the corner of her chair. It was a 
 moment of high ceremony. She accepted the 
 presentation of Gilbert with much gracious- 
 ness, and he answered her smile and recogni- 
 tion with his lowest bow, while the Marquise 
 passed on. 
 
 " Madame de Veuil, in anticipation of the 
 happy event that is to connect our families, 
 allow me the honour of presenting my nephew 
 to you." 
 
 Madame de Veuil had been a very hand- 
 some woman, in part Spanish; she was 
 brilliant in expression, olive in colouring, very 
 expansive in form. She received Gilbert with 
 great suavity, but he scarcely glanced at her 
 as he performed his bow, so interested was he 
 in looking behind her to where (safe as to 
 propriety in the near vicinity of the maternal 
 wing) Jeanne and Morton were engaged in a 
 blissful bickering over some very amiably- 
 disputed point.
 
 136 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Jeanne was as small as her mother was 
 portly, mignonne as she was majestic, a little 
 bright-cheeked, merry-eyed, laughing thing — 
 French in her pretty movements and piquante 
 ways, Spanish in her olive tints and in the 
 soft expression that alternated with fun and 
 laughter in her big almond-shaped eyes. 
 
 Morton had a drooping flower in his hand, 
 which he was begging permission to put into 
 her hair ; and she was resisting him with 
 excessive zeal and energetic assurances, point- 
 ing out to his stupid and most masculine 
 observation that it did not in the least suit 
 the colour of her gown. 
 
 The introduction of Gilbert was a happy 
 diversion, and Jeanne turned round to flash a 
 shy glance upon him, and to hold out her 
 hand at Morton's bidding ; " for this/' he said, 
 was " the English way to say Welcome ;" and 
 he made her repeat the word after him, add- 
 ing to it the term " my cousin," which called 
 up a bright blush to Jeanne's cheeks and
 
 Incognita. 137 
 
 excited an indignant, " Be quiet, will you ? you 
 naughty one !" sotto voce in French from her 
 lips. 
 
 Gilbert thought her charming, and inwardly 
 applauded Morton's taste. He would have 
 gladly lingered there with them, and have 
 tried to draw more of Jeanne's pretty broken 
 English words from her pouting lips, but the 
 Marquise drew him on. 
 
 There were Madame and Miss Carlisle to 
 whom he must be presented, an English 
 heiress and her mother, the first instalment 
 of the winter arrivals to come. Then there 
 were all the gentlemen, and she went quite 
 round the circle, exhibiting her nephew with 
 loving pride. 
 
 The Comte de Beaulieu was a fine old 
 aristocrat of a past regime, with thin figure 
 and courtly manner and grey head, with an 
 order at his buttonhole, and a stock of amaz- 
 ing stiffness and height enclosing his neck. 
 He bowed grandly to Sir Gilbert and
 
 13S The Sun- Maid. 
 
 addressed him some appropriate phrase, but 
 he spoke no word of any language save his 
 own, so Gilbert, who was prudent still in his 
 exercise of the French tongue, was glad to 
 get away from him as fast as he could. 
 
 Monsieur de Veuil was of another type. A 
 stoutish man, with large features and face, 
 with a great quantity of black hair in a 
 bushy condition upon his head, and with a 
 mouth that (like his eyes) had a way of 
 standing continually wide open, as if he were 
 transfixed with a chronic astonishment. In 
 fact, it was exceedingly fortunate that Jeanne 
 did not at all take after him, for he was 
 exactly like an astounded turkey-cock, and 
 you were always expecting him to gobble. 
 
 The big broad-shouldered English dragoon, 
 who had come among them the winter before 
 with an introduction to Morton from an old 
 school-friend, was the only remaining guest, 
 except two men who stood together upon the 
 hearthrug. The dragoon received Gilbert
 
 Incognita. 139 
 
 with little grace or felicity of manner, for lie 
 was utterly put out and knocked off his 
 balance by the ceremony with which the Mar- 
 quise pronounced their two names. " Aw 
 de doo V was all he managed to say, with an 
 awkward shuffle from one foot on to the other 
 and a sort of nod, as — -much to his satisfaction, 
 and still holding Gilbert's hand imprisoned- — 
 she passed on. 
 
 The two on the hearthrug turned and 
 bowed as Madame approached them. One of 
 these was old and grey-haired, the other was 
 young. The latter Madame de St. Hilaire 
 passed with a smile and a playful tap of her fan. 
 
 " Go away, Bebe," she said, " I am not go- 
 ing to perform a ceremony of introduction for 
 two boys like you ; but here, Gilbert, this is 
 Monsieur le Baron Keffel ; and my dear 
 friend/' she continued, laying her hand gently 
 on the older man's arm, " will you allow me 
 the pleasure of making my nephew acquainted 
 with you V
 
 140 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Ah !" responded the Baron in a quick 
 sharp tone like the shutting up of a snuff-box. 
 " Ah ! I, am, glad ; I, am, de, light, ed, sir ; 
 how, do, you, do V 
 
 He held out his hand to Gilbert, who, 
 taking it, found his own closed up into a 
 tight eager clasp, while the old gentleman 
 peered with sharp hawk-like eyes and with 
 amazing inquisitiveness into his countenance. 
 
 " How, do, you, do ?" 
 
 That was just the way he spoke, in clearly- 
 defined and single syllables, jerked out in 
 English as perfectly correct and grammatical 
 as was Gilbert's French. Probably in suc- 
 cessful imitation of either speech as spoken by 
 the natives they were about equal. 
 
 The Baron was an extremely odd-looking 
 old gentleman, and there was certainly some- 
 thing very interesting about him. His figure 
 was slight and short, his grey hair was 
 brushed back from a very broad and knotty 
 forehead. His mouth was a restless one, and
 
 Incognita. 141 
 
 the thin lips worked curiously when he was 
 silent, with a quizzical expression of intense 
 irony playing over them continually. But 
 this was not their only expression ; they could 
 part sometimes with a sweet and very bril- 
 liant smile. He had sharp little eyes, and 
 the most inquisitive-looking nose imagin- 
 able. It was rather long, it tapered a little, 
 and the point seemed to stick out before him 
 with an unmistakable expression of continual 
 inquiry and insatiable curiosity. It looked 
 full of interrogation now as his gaze was 
 raised to Gilbert's face, but he had no instant 
 opportunity for investigations of any kind, as 
 the young fellow whom the Marquise had 
 addressed just before was answering her sally 
 with the most perfect composure, and was 
 insinuating his person to the front. As soon 
 as the presentation to the Baron was over, he 
 exclaimed in a laughing voice : 
 
 " Well, Madame, if you will not do it, I 
 must just introduce myself."
 
 142 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " You tiresome Bebe, there is no suppress- 
 ing you ! Here, Gilbert, let me present you 
 to Mr. Henry — How do you say it, Bebe ? 
 Tell me ; I forget half your name." 
 
 " Henry Edward Fitzgerald Beresford, late 
 of Her Majesty's Coldstream Guards, and 
 very much at your service. That is the way 
 to do it, Madame. See, I have saved you the 
 trouble." 
 
 The Marquise answered as she laughed at 
 him : 
 
 " ' Bebe f ' Bebe* !' that is the only name 
 by which we know him, Gilbert, and the only 
 one he deserves." 
 
 Bebe* Beresford, so called from his earliest 
 days at the Wellington Barracks, and called 
 so still, now he went there no longer, shook 
 hands with Gilbert, who looked up at him, 
 amused at his sang-froid and impertinence, 
 and recognised the origin of the name in the 
 youngest and smoothest face ever seen on 
 such tall shoulders, in the fair hair waving
 
 Incognita. 143 
 
 back from the boy's forehead, and in the pre- 
 tended expression of astonished innocence 
 that played over his laughing mouth and his 
 clear blue eyes. He was fair to delicacy, and 
 the hectic colour and transparent temple 
 bespoke indeed the reason of his having left 
 the Coldstreams and the beloved barracks, 
 and of his becoming an habitue of Pau. He 
 was a merry fellow, fond of his foreign home 
 now, both people and place, and he was a 
 universal favourite and a privileged character 
 among them all. 
 
 The Marquise attacked him again presently, 
 but he parried skilfully her rallying words. 
 The Baron joined in with a dash of pungent 
 satire, and Gilbert for a few minutes listened 
 amused. Then his attention wandered ; he 
 began to glance round the room ; and so it was 
 that he observed first what the Marquise in 
 her eager altercation did not notice imme- 
 diately, that the door opened again, that a 
 lady was announced, who, unheard in the
 
 144 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 hubbub of voices, quietly entered the room. 
 The Marquis had his back towards her, bend- 
 ing over Madame de Yeuil, the Marquise was 
 ejaculating with vehemence to the Baron ; so 
 the lady stood still a moment unreceived and 
 unnoticed, looking inquiringly from side to 
 side, while Gilbert's eyes had time to rest 
 upon her, and to realise her, for just that 
 moment before his aunt had turned. 
 
 She stood quite still, hesitating, in that 
 shady light, which Madame la Marquise 
 thought as becoming to herself as to her 
 friends. Dark eyes, soft and deeply sha- 
 dowed, wandered slowly and steadily across 
 the room, an inquiring and just slightly asto- 
 nished expression creeping into them as she 
 paused, still unobserved. Her features were 
 short and irregular, resisting all classification 
 under any describable type. They were har- 
 monious, however, and artistic in their irre- 
 gularity, and the mouth was in itself beautiful. 
 Indeed, some people were fond of saying that
 
 Incognita. 145 
 
 it was the only perfect feature she possessed ; 
 but in that they were wrong, for the low 
 broad forehead, with its line of straight and 
 clear-drawn brows, was perfect also in refined 
 and expressive intellectuality ; and the white 
 teeth, shining between the full parted lips, 
 were small and pearly, and exquisite in their 
 perfection as well. The figure, rather tall 
 than short, was full and undulating, essen- 
 tially graceful when she stood now in perfect 
 stillness as when she moved. Like many who 
 sought a home in these southern climes of 
 B^arn, she looked fragile but not painfully 
 delicate. Just enough so to have furnished 
 perhaps sufficient excuse for the style of her 
 dress, which, though becoming, was unlike all 
 those around her. The long skirt sweeping 
 the ground was of a rich dark shade of 
 chestnut brown, and round her shoulders 
 and close up to her throat she had thrown, 
 in soft festoons, a scarf of some delicate 
 and pliable material and of a pale prim- 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 rose hue. It was carefully chosen, and har- 
 monised as perfectly with the shade of her 
 dress and the tone of her own colouring as 
 the gold of the autumn leaves with their 
 sombre tints of brown. In her ears, round 
 her throat, and twined through the thick 
 coils of her shadowy hair, she wore orna- 
 ments of the precious primrose-tinted amber 
 of Russia, that matched exactly with her 
 scarf. Of her colouring and complexion it 
 need only be said that they were of that rare 
 tone with which amber can be worn success- 
 fully — the blanc-mat of Madame de Main- 
 tenon. Pale, delicate, and clear, without 
 being sickly, opaque rather than transparent, 
 and with a faint flush of colour that came 
 and went quickly, speaking a fervency of life 
 and an energy of intellect and feeling quiver- 
 ing below the shield of composure and strong 
 self-control. 
 
 It was but for a moment that Gilbert could 
 thus contemplate her, and then he touched his
 
 Incognita. 147 
 
 aunt's arm ; she paused in her rapid flow of 
 words, glanced at him, followed the direction 
 of his eyes, perceived her visitor, and rustled 
 instantly across the room with eagerness and 
 speed. 
 
 " Zophee ! my dear little one ! a thousand 
 pardons ! I did not hear you come in." 
 
 " I have but just come," she answered, 
 smiling in assurance to the Marquise, " who 
 was sadly troubled at her inattention, and be- 
 came profuse and affectionate in her apologies. 
 
 " I am so enchanted to see you," she went 
 on ; " it was so good of you to come, you dar- 
 ling. And you are cold too !" taking both 
 the small white hands in her own and chafing 
 them gently. " Come to the fire, dear ; come 
 to the fire." 
 
 Then she wound her arm round Madame 
 Zophee and kissed her on each cheek ; and 
 while that composed person laughed softly 
 at the effusiveness of the Marquise's salu- 
 tation, she was drawn irresistibly on to the 
 
 10-2
 
 148 The Sun- Maid, 
 
 hearthrug by one arm still round her shoulder, 
 her hands being held clasped in those of her 
 kind old friend. She responded in gentle 
 caressing tones to the tenderness of the old 
 Marquise, without any unwonted excitement of 
 demonstration certainly, but in a deferential 
 pretty way, as if submitting to it willingly, 
 and full of grateful and affectionate response. 
 
 There was a little buzz then among her 
 gentlemen friends, all eager to welcome her. 
 The Marquis had rushed forward with alacrity 
 equal to his lady's as soon as he observed 
 her, and waited only till the energy of the 
 Marquise had a little expended itself to make 
 his salutations as well. 
 
 " Madame," he said, with profound obeisance, 
 " I fail in words to express my pleasure in the 
 reception of you, and my sense of the favour 
 you accord me in thus at length honouring 
 my humble table with your fair presence." 
 
 It was a very fine speech indeed when heard 
 in all its native dignity, in its proper tongue ;
 
 Incognita. 149 
 
 and when the Marquis had concluded it with 
 deliberate emphasis and entirely to his own 
 satisfaction, he took the hand which Madame 
 Zophee had managed to extricate from his 
 wife and he pressed it with respectful tender- 
 ness to his lips. 
 
 Morton came forward also, and when he 
 reached the vicinity of Madame Zophee he 
 drew back a step, clicked his heels together 
 and made her a low bow. With the etiquette 
 of his nation in ceremony he did not ad- 
 vance to take her hand until she held it out 
 to him. It was the left one this time, in 
 token of friendliness and familiarity. But 
 though he raised it and bent his head over it, 
 he had no time to kiss the hand as his father 
 had done, before she drew it lightly away. 
 
 " I hope/' she said, with a kind bright 
 glance of her eyes up to his, " that you appre- 
 ciate the honour I pay you, Monsieur Morton, 
 in choosing this evening for my first dissipa- 
 tion for many a year."
 
 150 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 11 1 do indeed, Madame/' he answered, with 
 another profound bow. 
 
 " I do not think I could love little Jeanne 
 better than I have loved her always," she con- 
 tinued, looking round for the girl ; " but I 
 felt I must come this evening to congratulate 
 you, Vicomte, and to embrace her as your 
 fiancee." 
 
 Morton turned and drew Jeanne towards 
 her, all blushing and sparkling at once with 
 new-born shyness and bliss. 
 
 " Cherie I" whispered Madame Zoph^e, as 
 she kissed the girl and then held her back a 
 little to look tenderly into her face. " Do 
 you know, Vicomte Morton, I did not think a 
 week ago that these eyes and cheeks could 
 possibly look brighter than they did then; 
 but to-night I see after all they can. God 
 give you sunny days, you happy little one." 
 Then she murmured, " God bless you !" in the 
 Russian tongue this time and in a soft low 
 voice.
 
 Incognita. 151 
 
 " Go od, go on I" broke in Baron Keffel. 
 "Please go on in that tongue of music of 
 yours. It is long since I have heard you 
 speak it, and its accents do drop as I have 
 told you, Madame, like pearls over velvet in 
 my ears." 
 
 "And you quote it in your simile,'' she 
 said, smiling her recognition to him, while he 
 bowed low, delighted at having succeeded in 
 making her turn his way. " ' They now like 
 pearls over velvet,' was what Bestuzhev said 
 of Pushkin's verse." 
 
 "And I say it again of you when you 
 speak in your iEolian voice your own poetic 
 tongue," answered the Baron. "Solava mojaf" 
 (my nightingale) he added, with one of his 
 rare bright smiles. " So may I call you, eh ? 
 with my privilege as your adopted grand- 
 father ? and because— hah ! hah ! except you 
 and me together not one body can under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I think," she answered, " when you were
 
 152 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 in Russia, Baron, you only learnt such words 
 as were pretty and useful for flattering your 
 friends." 
 
 " Hah ! hah !" laughed the Marquis, with 
 a heavy shake of his portly sides, for the 
 conversation continued in French at the 
 moment, and so the repartee was within his 
 reach. 
 
 "Well hit," said the Marquise. "But 
 please, chere Zophee, do not cure him of 
 making you pretty speeches ; for, if so, he will 
 be a savage bear entirely, seeing he makes 
 them to no one else." 
 
 " Ah, Madame la Marquise !" cried the 
 Baron in horrified expostulation, and turning 
 to enumerate on his fingers all the graceful 
 things he had that very evening said already 
 to her. 
 
 Gilbert had been watching the group with 
 unconscious admiration all this time, feeling 
 rather than thinkiug how T picturesque they a]l 
 looked in that pretty, old-fashioned, soft-
 
 Incognita. 153 
 
 shaded room, and he had been congratulating 
 himself the while inwardly that he, and not 
 the Baron, was to take Madame Zophee to 
 dinner. 
 
 Suddenly at this point he felt his gaze 
 transfixed and fascinated by the expres- 
 sion of old Keffel's face, and he burst 
 into a fit of merry laughter as he waited 
 for what was to come next. It was irre- 
 sistible ; the Baron looked so horrified at the 
 accusation of the Marquise and yet so de- 
 lighted to enter into battle again, eager as 
 ever over this new cause for pairy and attack, 
 that Gilbert's sense of the ridiculous was 
 touched irrepressibly and he laughed outright. 
 With such a merry peal too, striking so 
 fresh and youthful on the ear, that it drew 
 Madame Zophee's eyes instantly upon him — 
 at that moment dinner was announced. 
 
 The Baron's self-defence and expostulation 
 were quashed for the time being, for the Mar- 
 quis was immediately in a state of bustle that
 
 154 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 absorbed the whole occasion and himself. He 
 went off at last with the Comtesse de Beau- 
 lieu, the Comte following with Madame de 
 Veuil. Then the Marquise exclaimed, " Mon 
 Dieu ! Gilbert !" and, seizing his arm, per- 
 formed a rapid introduction, and hurried 
 him off with Madame Zoph^e without 
 delay. 
 
 Then it appeared that Monsieur de Veuil, 
 who knew no English, must make the best of 
 " Madame Karrleel," who spoke little French. 
 The Marquise waived this difficulty without 
 any observation whatever, and despatched 
 them into the dining-room, making strange 
 remarks to each other by the way. The big 
 dragoon fell to Jeanne's elder sister, who, 
 having happily a comfortable facility in the 
 English language, did not give that heavy 
 person " so bad a time" as he had feared. 
 The Bebe conducted Miss Carlisle. Then 
 Morton tucked his Jeanne cosily under his 
 arm, and sent the Baron and his mother out
 
 Incognita. 155 
 
 before them, that they two might be the last, 
 and have a little bit of joke, as they lingered, 
 quite to themselves. 
 
 Gravely, however, they (as all the others) 
 had to file through the regiment of servants — 
 who stood lining the hall — truly magnificent 
 to-night in their full dress, looking exactly as 
 if they had come down, with the gilt chairs 
 and sofas, direct from Louis XIII. Con- 
 spicuous among them, alike from the dignity 
 of his person and the plainness of his costume, 
 was Baptiste, who walked solemnly into the 
 dining-room with the procession, and placed 
 himself behind Gilbert's chair — a post he 
 assumed and a privilege ceded to him on the 
 score of his eloquence in the language of 
 Britain, and "Monsieur Sare GeelbertV 
 acknowledged difficulty in contending with 
 French. There he stood, and when Gilbert 
 smiled, as he turned round and saw him, 
 Baptiste bowed with that air of conscious 
 merit and importance which never forsook
 
 156 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 him under any circumstances, however try- 
 ing. 
 
 Gilbert and Madame Zoph^e, delayed by 
 that tardy introduction, had hastened after 
 the Comte and Madame de Veuil into the 
 dining-room, scarcely exchanging a word. 
 There was no time for it ; they barely reached 
 the entrance as the Marquis turned round in 
 consternation at the processional pause. 
 
 As each couple entered the dining-room 
 the outburst of admiration was unanimous. 
 The table was so pretty and the compliments 
 implied by its appearance were precisely of 
 the graceful and poetic nature so much in 
 sympathy with French taste. Decorated in 
 honour of Jeanne, and of the happy occasion 
 which brought them all together, it was a 
 mass of snowy flowers, relieved by quantities 
 of green maiden-hair fern, through which the 
 lamplight glistened softly, veiled with dex- 
 terity by the feathery shade. It was beau- 
 tiful, fresh, cool, and most artistic in arrange-
 
 Incognita. 157 
 
 merit — as became the perfect taste for which 
 the Marquise was renowned. It drew forth 
 congratulations from everybody ; a graceful 
 acknowledgment from Morton, who was 
 highly pleased ; and from Jeanne the grateful 
 glance of her bright happy eyes, as, all blush- 
 ing and overcome with the blissful excite- 
 ment of her position, she bowed with reve- 
 rence to her future mother-in-law, and took 
 the place of honour allotted to her between 
 the father and son. 
 
 There was much laughter and many 
 apologies exchanged in high-toned French as 
 the party sat down, and Gilbert found him- 
 self in dangerous proximity to the lace 
 flounces of Madame la Comtesse de Beaulieu. 
 He had to bow and murmur respectful de- 
 preciation of himself and of his chair before 
 he felt he could venture to appropriate it ; 
 and, alas ! when the Comtesse was pacified, 
 he found Madame Zophee had Monsieur de 
 Veuil on her other side, and {apropos to long
 
 158 The Sun-Maid 
 
 trains and ladies' dress, and Pau rooms and 
 crowded receptions at the Prefecture) that 
 gentleman had already begun to " gobble" a 
 great deal. 
 
 " Guere possible maintenant — scarce pos- 
 sible now, Madame," he was saying ; " in this 
 lower world for men there is really no room I 
 At the Prefecture, for instance, what with 
 trains and laces and trimmings, one cannot 
 move — one cannot speak — one cannot breathe t 
 It is impossible i" 
 
 Gilbert bent slightly over to listen. He 
 had not the least intention of allowing Mon- 
 sieur de Yeuil to absorb his lady beyond the 
 limits of the soup, but for the moment he 
 amused him. The wide open mouth, the 
 round staring eyes, the expression of serious 
 importance on his countenance, the eager 
 gesticulations of his large hands were all 
 amazing, and Gilbert was gazing at him when 
 Madame Zophee (not having at all forgotten 
 her own squire) turned and met the laughing
 
 Incognita. 159 
 
 expression of his eyes. It pleased and touched 
 her, and she smiled in response. Gilbert had 
 good eyes, of a bright and true blue ; they 
 were fringed with dark lashes which gave 
 them colour, shadow, and change, and the 
 look in them, now he was amused, was so 
 merry and boyish that it was impossible 
 not to answer with a sympathetic smile. 
 
 " How I wish I understood French better !" 
 he said at last to Madame Zophee, when they 
 had exchanged one expressive glance in 
 recognition of their mutual sense of amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " Do you not understand it V she said, 
 speaking for the first time in his hearing in 
 English. " I beg your pardon ! How very 
 rude I have been !" 
 
 " Not at all. I did gather a meaning, as it 
 happened, just now, enough to be appalled at 
 the difficulties of existence as Monsieur de 
 Yeuil paints them." 
 
 " Perhaps it is not so bad," she answered,
 
 160 The Sun-Maid, 
 
 " for people who do not take up so much 
 room." 
 
 " Well, I hate crowded parties myself, I 
 must say," continued Gilbert, " and at home 
 I frequent them very little indeed. " 
 
 "You will have to get accustomed to them 
 if you stay at Pau," she answered. " I think 
 there, particularly, people like to live in 
 crowds." 
 
 " But the crowds have not arrived yet, 
 have they V 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! only just beginning to 
 come. You and Mrs. Carlisle and that tall 
 gentleman, whom I do not know, are the 
 first instalment of the visitors for this year." 
 
 " But I do not count, you know," he ex- 
 claimed, "at least not for the winter, and the 
 balls, and that kind of thing. I fancy I shall 
 be back in England long before my aunt goes 
 into town." 
 
 " Shall you ? ah, indeed ! I am sorry ! I 
 know the Marquise hoped to keep you for a
 
 Incognita. 161 
 
 much longer time, and that will be quite a 
 little visit." 
 
 " Well, I do not know," answered Gilbert ; 
 " one can never tell — can one ? But, you see, 
 I am by way of making a tour, and I am only 
 supposed to be beginning it at Pau here. 
 There are all sorts of places, besides, that I 
 have got to visit." 
 
 " Eeally ! you are starting on your travels, 
 are you ? And how far do you mean them to 
 extend T 
 
 " Well, do you know — I forget exactly," he 
 answered ; " but I have made a list of the 
 places I had a fancy to see, and marked them 
 all out on a map. I shall look over it if you 
 like and tell you." 
 
 "That sounds rather an original way of 
 planning a tour." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Well, I dare say it is ; 
 but I remember how it happened, and some- 
 how to me it seems quite natural." 
 
 "And it happened— how?" Madame Zophee 
 
 vol. i. 11
 
 162 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 inquired in her turn, looking with a little 
 amusement and some awakening curiosity 
 into his bright face. 
 
 " Well," he continued, " it was one evening 
 last winter in the old library at home. I was 
 reading something — in the Times, I think, it 
 was — that put it into my head that I ought 
 to travel, and I went and ferreted out the 
 big Atlas, and wrote a list of places, and pen- 
 cilled out the way, and made up my mind 
 about it there and then." 
 
 " How very energetic !" said Madame 
 Zophe'e, laughing softly at the rapidity of his 
 descriptive style. 
 
 "Yes, it is the sort of way I alivays like to 
 do a thing : if you are determined upon it, just 
 do it right off systematically at once. But then, 
 you see, I could not get started directly," he 
 added, assuming a more serious air. 
 
 " No ? Were there difficulties in the 
 
 2" 
 
 way 
 
 " Not difficulties exactly, but there were
 
 Incognita. 163 
 
 quantities of things I had to attend to at 
 home before leaving, and I had to make 
 arrangements for all to go on smoothly till I 
 get back. But I feel I must not stay here 
 long, because I have a great many other 
 places to go to, and I ought to be getting 
 home again some day very soon." 
 
 "Why, you have only just left home." 
 
 " Yes, but do you know I have not quite 
 got reconciled to the idea that I have left it, 
 and I do not feel sure that I ever shall. I 
 do not like being so far from the old place 
 somehow. It is the sort of feeling I did not 
 in the least expect to have, but I cannot get 
 rid of it." 
 
 " But you will enjoy being here with your 
 cousin, surely V 
 
 " Oh yes, immensely, and I am beginning 
 to think this a very pleasant place, but still I 
 do not know — I long for the old home too. 
 So there, Madame Zophee, I have given you 
 the whole history of my projected travels, 
 
 11—2
 
 164 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 and confess to you that I do not feel like 
 extending them very far." 
 
 And a funny little history she thought it. 
 
 " You seem very fond of your home, Sir 
 Gilbert ?" she said presently. 
 
 He paused an instant before he answered — 
 a sort of unconscious feeling coming over him 
 as he looked quickly round at her that he 
 would give a great deal to make her repeat 
 the sentence again, or at least his own 
 name at the end of it. It struck him sud- 
 denly as a most euphonious one. Madame 
 Zophee's English was faultless in grammar 
 and expression, and in accent perfectly pure, 
 but she spoke the language with an intona- 
 tion that was curiously musical, and quite 
 peculiar to herself — so Gilbert thought — 
 really, it was only peculiar to those finest 
 of all modern linguists, the women of her 
 race. Her voice was round and mellow, 
 and in pronouncing her English words she 
 lingered on the vowels, and softened the
 
 Incognita. 165 
 
 harder consonants, and seemed to blend the 
 syllables together with a sort of harmonious 
 rhythm that recalled every moment Baron 
 Keffel's simile of the velvet and the pearls ; 
 and when she came rather hesitatingly to 
 pronounce Sir Gilbert's name, she softened 
 the g just a little, leant slightly upon the r, 
 and dropped the t at the end altogether till 
 it became in his ear a most singularly agreeable 
 sound. 
 
 He had thought to himself when he had 
 first contemplated addressing her that he 
 should never have patience to converse with 
 a woman who talked broken English ; but 
 as she spoke, he conceived suddenly a new 
 opinion, namely, that it was the height of 
 folly for any of the favoured race of Anglia 
 to learn any foreign language whatever, see- 
 ing that their own was certainly the most 
 musical ever heard out of Eden on this 
 earth. It had never struck him before, but 
 now he was sure of it. After pausing a
 
 166 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 moment she thought she had spoken indis- 
 tinctly, and she repeated her question again. 
 
 " You are fond of your home ?" 
 
 " Oh very," he said. " I am fond of a 
 country life, and of all it comprises, and my 
 home is in the country far away from any 
 town." 
 
 " And you live there entirely ?" 
 
 u Yes, with a couple of months' variety to 
 London or Scotland now and then.' 5 
 
 "In the country of England? all through 
 the year and quite alone ?" 
 
 " No, no ; not alone," he answered, " not 
 quite ; that is to say I have my mother." 
 
 " Ah, she does live with you ? Zo — " 
 
 " And you live in the country here, Madame 
 Zophee ?" he said, turning the tables of in- 
 quiry to her side. "In that taste we are 
 
 unanimous." 
 
 " Yes, I live in the country too, but — I 
 have no mother to live with me," she answered, 
 with a little fall of sadness in her voice.
 
 Incognita. 167 
 
 "You live alone? quite alone? you don't 
 say so ! Fancy ! Well, I do not think I 
 should like that. I know I should miss my 
 dear old mother terribly if she were awa}^ 
 But still I would live in the country all the 
 same I think. You see one has always the 
 dogs and horses, hasn't one i" 
 
 " One has," she answered, smiling a little, 
 "and they are wonderful companions cer- 
 tainly. And here, you know, no one could 
 feel dull even in the most utter solitude 
 while there is the country itself. The moun- 
 tains and the flowers are society sufficient 
 surely — nobody ought to complain." 
 
 She seemed to murmur the words absently 
 as she spoke, as though more to assure herself 
 than him. 
 
 " Well, no ; it is glorious, but you should 
 see our part of the world as well, Madame 
 Zophee : it does not yield the palm to any, I 
 think, taking it all round, as a place to live in. 
 It is pretty, and it is thorough country, and
 
 168 The Sun-Maid, 
 
 then it is home, you know ; and then there is 
 the sport. I am sure there is nowhere else 
 one could have such runs as we have some- 
 times of an open winter, and there is always 
 something to do every month of the year. 
 Have you never been to England, Madame ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " But some day you will come ?" 
 
 " I should like it immensely," she answered; 
 " some day I hope I may." 
 
 " I am sure you will. How I should like 
 to show you Erie's Lynn !" 
 
 " You are very kind, and I should very 
 much like to see it; it is a phase in life of 
 which I have read much and fancied more, 
 but which I have yet to witness — the English 
 couDtrv home." 
 
 " I am sure you would like it. And do you 
 think some day you will come, really V 
 
 " I hope so indeed. I do travel now and 
 then — in the summer-time, you know, when it 
 gets too hot on our coteaux here — and one of
 
 Incognita. 169 
 
 these days I shall certainly make my summer 
 journey to England." 
 
 " That is famous ; and then you will come 
 down to see us at Erie's Lynn. There is so 
 much I should like to show you there, as you 
 are fond of the country and flowers and every- 
 thing of that kind. How pleasant it would 
 be!" 
 
 " It would indeed be very pleasant," she 
 replied ; "and when some day I do come to 
 England, I will certainly claim the full privi- 
 leges of your invitation." 
 
 " There ! that is a promise," he continued, 
 smiling with sunny pleasure as he turned to 
 her, just in expression of the half-conscious 
 feeling he had of his enjoyment of her society, 
 and of self-congratulation as he felt how well 
 and how easily they got on. 
 
 Madame Zophee was looking with a soft 
 bright smile at him, much amused at his 
 eagerness and at his instant impulse of hos- 
 pitality.
 
 170 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Ah !" she said presently, " England is far 
 away. Who knows ? I wonder after all if I 
 shall ever go there." 
 
 " Of course you will," he answered, " and I 
 am sure you will enjoy it." 
 
 " I shall look forward to it at all events," 
 she said. 
 
 " And are you really fond of horses and 
 dogs ?" continued Gilbert presently. " I am 
 so glad you are, for it is so nice I think when 
 one first knows people to find we like many 
 of the same things." 
 
 " I wonder if we do V 1 she replied, laughing 
 softly. " I am fond of many, many things, Sir 
 Gilbert. I should think you were a lover 
 much more of people than of things — of 
 living, I mean, rather than inanimate sur- 
 roundings." 
 
 " I am fond of most people I know in a sort 
 of way certainly," said Gilbert ; " but as to 
 loving, I really do not think there is anything 
 for which one can care more than for a dog you
 
 Incognita. 171 
 
 Lave had since you were a little fellow, or a 
 horse that has carried you well for years and 
 years. I am sure I could never like a man 
 who did not feel his dog was a real friend to 
 him ; and who could not love his horse." 
 
 " There we quite agree," she said. " I most 
 sincerely do both; my biggest dog is one of 
 my dearest friends, and my horses are real 
 pets." 
 
 " Are they indeed ? I am so glad ! Are 
 they English — did you have them out ?" 
 
 " No, we are all Russian — dogs, horses, and 
 every one of us, except a Pyrenean hound, 
 my trusty watchman, and an old Belgian who 
 is ending his days in repose with me." 
 
 " A Belgian dog ?" 
 
 "Yes ; I bought him out of a cart once, in 
 which he had worn away his strength, in the 
 streets of Bruges." 
 
 " How delightful ! and what a number of 
 them you seem to have. How I should like 
 to see them all."
 
 172 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Well, perhaps the Marquise will allow 
 one or two of them to come and pay you a 
 visit, but I think I must send my Ivan also, 
 or my Russian Lustoff, my special friend and 
 companion, would certainly devour Fanfan or 
 Lu." 
 
 " That ivould be a catastrophe !" 
 
 " It would indeed ! Fancy the dear Mar- 
 quise's feelings — it would be terrible." 
 
 " Well, at all events that is one point on 
 which we are completely sympathetic, Madame 
 Zophee, and that is very pleasant. I wonder 
 if we should find many more if we went on V 
 
 " Probably a great many," she answered ; 
 " but would you mind the effort of making a 
 few remarks in French to your other neigh- 
 bour ? because I hear a dreadful pause suc- 
 ceeding to frantic efforts at a mutual under- 
 standing between Mrs. Carlisle and Monsieur 
 de Veuil. They have been torturing my right 
 ear all dinner-time. I think I must put in a 
 word or two by way of assistance."
 
 Incognita. 173 
 
 Gilbert looked round to see what she meant, 
 and caught sight of Monsieur de Veuil's profile, 
 on which sat a fixed expression of despair. 
 Beyond was Mrs. Carlisle, also at the end of 
 her energies, and after resting an instant 
 upon her, Gilbert's eyes wandered round the 
 table to the different couples, and then sud- 
 denly he threw his head back and laughed 
 again with that same ring of boyish glee in 
 his voice which had struck Madame Zophee so 
 much in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ?" she said, a little re- 
 proachfully, for she thought it hard on her 
 right-hand neighbour and on Mrs. Carlisle, 
 and she felt compunction for having drawn 
 his attention to them ; and then she looked 
 up at him, for he was laughing still and could 
 not answer her, and she thought again that 
 she had never seen anything so bright, so 
 cloudless, and so youthful as the expression 
 of his face. 
 
 « 
 
 His youthful look specially surprised her,
 
 in The Sim-Maid. 
 
 for his aunt had said that he was twenty-five. 
 She herself was scarcely quite that, and yet 
 surely she thought she looked much the elder 
 of the two — and so she did. 
 
 Not that the bloom of her youth or her 
 beauty had in any way left her, but there 
 rested in her eyes and on her brow that 
 expression of having lived, and of much of 
 the knowledge of what living means. There 
 was a depth in her tranquillity that a quick 
 observer, sensitive to the impression of inner 
 character, felt immediately was profound and 
 impenetrable. 
 
 A brightness floated above, the soft clear 
 radiance of a sunbeam shining on a calm 
 running stream, but the evidence was there, 
 in the smile, in the glance, often even in 
 her tones and words, of undercurrents in 
 the life-stream where the waters ceased to 
 be transparent, and where their reflections 
 were unseen. 
 
 On his countenance, on the other hand, as
 
 Incognita. 175 
 
 now in his laughing eyes, there was no know- 
 ledge of a past, and nothing of experience. The 
 stream was all glistening and clear, reflecting 
 quite unclouded every fleeting sun-ray or 
 shadow as it went or came. But the stream 
 was fervent and rapid, so there was no fore- 
 telling for him into what stormy cataracts or 
 surging whirlpools it yet might fall. 
 
 "I am laughing," he said at length, "at 
 everybody. I am very sorry — it is very 
 wrong. But do look at my aunt and that old 
 Baron ! They have never once ceased fight- 
 ing since dinner began. And look at my 
 uncle ! The Comtesse has been too much for 
 him, and he is going quietly to sleep. And 
 there is that big fellow Hanleigh has been star- 
 ing at his plate for the last half-hour, and has 
 not been able to think of a single word to say 
 to poor Miss de Veuil. And do look at that 
 B6be\ as they call him ! he has neglected Miss 
 Carlisle shamefully, and has been joining in 
 as usual with the Baron. He and Morton
 
 176 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 and little Jeanne are the onlv ones who look 
 thoroughly happy, unless it is my aunt and — 
 Oh ! what a bore ! she is bowing to the table 
 in general, and you are all going away. I am 
 so sorry. I thought in France you went, 
 ladies and gentlemen, all together into the 
 drawing-room. May I not come ?" 
 
 No ! he must not. His aunt scolded him 
 as she passed him for the proposition, and, 
 tapping him on the shoulder, told him to 
 stay where he was. 
 
 " An English custom my mother clings to," 
 said Morton, as the door closed on the last of 
 the lady-procession and he came back to the 
 table. " She says it freshens us all up to be 
 left behind for a while, and that we are twice 
 as agreeable in consequence when the blissful 
 moment of re-union arrives. I used to agree 
 with her, but somehow I do not do so to- 
 night." 
 
 "Nor do I," said Gilbert decidedly.
 
 Incognita. 177 
 
 " Do you not ? that is all right/' Morton 
 answered. " Then as soon as the venerated 
 elders have settled to their claret, you and I 
 may perhaps fight off." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CHRONIQUE SCANDALEUSE. 
 
 HE elders," as Morton called them,, 
 took kindly apparently to this 
 fashion of the Marquise. The 
 old Comte de Beaulieu and Monsieur de 
 Yeuil gravitated towards the lower end of 
 the table where the Marquis sat, and where 
 the claret bottles, also in English fashion, were 
 ranged in front of him, and the three were 
 soon deep in whatever to the mind of the 
 B^arnais gentleman and landlord represents 
 poor-rates, taxes, magisterial duties, or any 
 such rural interests and concerns.
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 179 
 
 Morton, with a graceful air of courteous 
 hospitality, proceeded to beg the three younger 
 men to take their seats again and to help 
 themselves, as they desired, to wine. But 
 Captain Hanleigh, the big dragoon, had risen 
 with glass well replenished, and walking to the 
 fireplace he leant upon the high carved man- 
 telshelf and began kicking the burning logs 
 about in a rather unceremonious effort to pro- 
 duce a blaze. 
 
 " On the whole a bear !" soliloquised Gil- 
 bert, staring at his compatriot ; but Morton, 
 after one glance of astonishment at this 
 heaviest of all heavy dragoons, took the hint 
 immediately and applied himself with energy 
 to the replenishment of the fire. Gilbert 
 paused on the hearthrug beside him. Bebe 
 Beresford wheeled round in his chair, sat 
 riding backwards upon it, and with his arms 
 resting on the top bar and his wine-glass in 
 his hand, proceeded to gaze up at his military 
 countryman and to survey him with an air of 
 
 12—2
 
 180 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 supercilious and speculative curiosity, just 
 as if he had never seen him before, and had 
 not spent the whole of last winter, more or 
 less, in his society. 
 
 Meanwhile Baron KefFel felt his hour had 
 come. He had had his eye on Gilbert as the 
 newest phenomenon of interest in. his horizon 
 during a great part of dinner, and had formed 
 many theories upon him in his own philo- 
 sophic and very observant mind : and infor- 
 mation, as much and as direct as possible, was 
 now necessary to satisfy his inquiring faculties 
 to the full extent. 
 
 Old KefFel had been a great traveller in his 
 youth ; he had been nearly everywhere and 
 among all sorts of races and kinds of men. 
 He had been a little in Russia, a good deal in 
 the East, very often in Italy, and once or 
 twice in England, and by dint of inquiry, 
 minute and undaunted, everywhere and on 
 every conceivable subject, he had collected an 
 enormous mass of versatile information. All
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 181 
 
 this, in the seclusion of his study at his favou- 
 rite retreat on the Pyrenees, he perseveringly 
 reduced from copious notes and diaries into 
 theories, which again came into recognised 
 existence and were announced to the world 
 in eccentric articles in reviews and monthly 
 magazines, both in Germany and France. By 
 such media he conveyed to the reading mind 
 of both nations many wonderful theories and 
 details that would indeed have much as- 
 tonished the particular people under notice and 
 description for the time being. 
 
 He had opinions on government sprung from 
 observations stretching from London to Af- 
 ghanistan ; but specially upon domestic life he 
 had many original views, gathered from per- 
 sonal acquaintance with nearly every form of 
 social conventionalism from the Kalmuck or 
 Kirghez Kassacks of Tartary to the time- 
 honoured institutions of the British Hearth. 
 " Seizing opportunities " was his strong point, 
 and now in Gilbert he saw one not on any ac-
 
 182 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 count to be lost. Gilbert was indeed, in his 
 eyes, a representative of a great class — the 
 " English Kontree-gentleman," " Lord of the 
 Soil," " Knight Nobleman of the British Em- 
 pire ;" so the Baron would probably in his 
 next article in the " Review of National and 
 Foreign Manners ; describe him. In the 
 meantime a little investigation would be 
 opportune. So he came round the table, 
 joined the group on the hearthrug, and stand- 
 ing very close to Gilbert, turning up towards 
 him his inquisitive little nose and his sharp 
 pair of hawk's eyes, he opened the conversa- 
 tion with the leading inquiry : 
 
 " Do, you, feesh, or, do, you, shoot ?" 
 
 " Both, when I have the chance," said Gil- 
 bert, smiling in answer to the bright little 
 eyes. 
 
 " Ah, zo, then, I, would, meet, you, double." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ?" 
 
 " Yes, I, have, travelled, a, great, deal, Sare. 
 I have been in many contrees of the world,
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 183 
 
 and I have never been to the top of a highest 
 hill or to the bottom of a valley, to the bed of 
 any river, anywhere, not in any land, but I find 
 there an Englishman who feesh or shoot." 
 
 " Hah I" exclaimed Captain Hanleigh, with 
 a loud heavy laugh, as he sipped the Marquis's 
 claret with a critical air. "He wont have 
 much chance of doing either here at all events." 
 
 " Yes he may," cried the Baron sharply, 
 turning on the dragoon, whom he had already 
 on a former occasion profounded, angry at the 
 interruption which threatened to disturb his 
 investigation now. " He may feesh the Gave, 
 if he will — like, what is he — the Captain — 
 bah ! I forget the name — a very high thin 
 man who goes to shoot in the coteaux, and 
 catch the many little feesh." 
 
 ''Very leetle, and not many," responded 
 Captain Hanleigh, mimicking rather pointedly 
 the Baron s accentuation. " I should think 
 Erie's ideas of fishing would fit in with 
 Captain what-is-his-name about as well as his
 
 184 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 ideas of hunting would with a run with the 
 Pau hounds." 
 
 " Come, come," cried Morton, " we can- 
 not let you run down the sports of Pau to 
 my cousin, as I mean him to stay here and 
 enjoy them." 
 
 " By Jove, I do not want to run them 
 down !" said Hanleigh ; " why should I ? I 
 do not care two straws about them whether 
 they are good or bad." 
 
 "But I do," said Morton rather hotly. "I 
 do not think it is fair of men to come here 
 two winters running like you have done, 
 Hanleigh, and to have lots of fun out of the 
 place, fun enough at least to bring you back 
 again, and yet go on abusing it the whole 
 time." 
 
 " Not on the square," said Beb^ decidedly. 
 
 "By Jove," repeated Hanleigh, "I do not 
 say it is a bad sort of place. A fellow can 
 have a very good time here in some ways, I 
 grant ye, but to talk of sport is ridiculous."
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. IS 
 
 " Please, Captain," said the Baron snap- 
 pishly, " did you ever shoot a boar of the 
 Pyrenees ?" 
 
 " No, never ; can t say I did — never had 
 the chance," said Hanleigh. 
 
 " Well, I have," said Morton, " and I do 
 not think any man should go running down 
 the sport of a place till he has tried it. 
 Pheasant battues and deer drives are not 
 the sport of the Pyrenees, if you like, Han- 
 leigh, and I'll grant that our fox-hunting is 
 but an offshoot from your part of the world, 
 consequent on the place becoming an English 
 winter station ; but go up into the mountains 
 and spend a month or two above us here 
 among the Basques, and then when you have 
 shot a couple of isards and a boar or two, 
 you may come back and boast that you are 
 blase of the sports of the Pyrenees if you 
 choose, but not till then." 
 
 " I should like tremendously to do that," 
 put in Gilbert eagerly.
 
 1S6 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 "Well, wait a' bit," said Morton, "and 
 by and by, when the time comes, we 
 shall." 
 
 ' Awh, of course — but — fact is one does 
 not come to Pau at this time of year for that 
 kind of thing/' began Hanleigh. 
 
 " No I" struck in Bebe. " You come to hire 
 the Pyrenees for the season certainly, but not 
 for the sport they can afford." 
 
 " Hire the Pyrenees ?" said the Baron 
 inquisitively, with a little puzzled sort of 
 laugh. 
 
 " Yes, of course. Half the people who 
 come down here," continued B^be, "feel ex- 
 actly as if they had rented them with their 
 apartments and their sunshine, for which they 
 pay so many more francs a month. Have 
 you never noticed one or two of the genus 
 Briton promenading the Place of a fine day 
 and exhibiting the view to the last comer as 
 if it was a meritorious achievement of their 
 own, and the winter sunshine a performance
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 187 
 
 that did them especial credit ? I have 
 often." 
 
 " He-e-h !" sniggled the Baron. " How 
 eccentric !" 
 
 " True, though ; and so men like our friend 
 here (begging your pardon, Hanleigh) come 
 and hire us all round (for I consider myself as 
 of Pau, you know), us and our balls, and our 
 hunt, and our band-day, and our promenade, 
 and our cricket-field, and everything, and 
 patronise us, and take us down about it all 
 the whole time. I call it hard lines, I do. 
 It works me up tremendously." 
 
 Bebe was a person privileged to speak his 
 mind. 
 
 " I did not say anything about the society," 
 said Hanleigh. " I think in some ways it's 
 an awfully nice place." 
 
 " And containing a few rather nice people," 
 said Bebe sarcastically, " who have been on 
 the whole rather civil to you — and me." 
 
 " Uncommonly civil — overpowering civil
 
 188 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 sometimes," responded Hanleigh. " I think 
 you have to be careful, I do. I do not think 
 a man can know everybody in a place like 
 this — can he ? It is so uncommonly awkward 
 sometimes afterwards, you know, at other 
 places — at home, and that sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh, no !•'■ said Beb£, with pretended 
 solemnity; "it does not trouble one a bit. 
 You can always do like — who was it ? Old 
 Brummel, I think, — a capital plan. A man 
 came up to him in St. James's Street once 
 and said ' How do you do V and l Ah f was 
 the old beau's reply, in meditative accents, 
 1 don't know you, sir ; you have the advantage 
 of me, I never saw you before.' ( Oh yes ! ' 
 says his friend. ' Don't you remember ? I 
 met you at Boulogne ; you used to dine with 
 me there.' ' Indeed, I dare say,' responds 
 the cool old fellow. ' It is very possible ; 
 and I can only add, that I shall have great 
 pleasure in knowing you when I meet you — 
 at Boulogne again.' "
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 189 
 
 " Hah ! hah !" laughed the Baron, intensely 
 delighted at the acquirement of a fresh anec- 
 dote, which he always found in his anno- 
 tations gave the evening's conversation a 
 certain finish and point. 
 
 " What a snob !" said Gilbert. 
 
 " Do you think so V said Beb^, with inno- 
 cent astonishment. 
 
 " Well, I don't know/' continued Hanleigh, 
 in his drawling tones again. " It is all very 
 well, but nevertheless, one c&rmot know 
 everybody in a place like this." 
 
 "J know nearly everybody," said Bebe, 
 " and I am tremendously fond of them all ; 
 they have been wonderfully kind to me, and 
 I came out here as seedy a little chap as pos- 
 sible, Erie, and I am as right as a trivet now." 
 
 " I have got to take my cousin round, and 
 introduce him one of these days," said Morton. 
 " There are numbers of people I should like 
 him to know. Has anybody come back yet, 
 Bebe T
 
 190 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Well, yes — nearly all the stationaries 
 have turned up again ; the set that have been 
 to Biarritz have come back, and several 
 others, but very few new people have arrived 
 
 yet." 
 
 " Well, Erie will have the advantage of 
 a first selection," said Hanleigh, "for his 
 specialties in the circle of his winter 
 friends." 
 
 " All very well, Morton ; but you know I 
 cannot allow myself to while away the whole 
 winter here," interrupted Gilbert ; but Mor- 
 ton had no time to answer, for Bebe began 
 to hold forth again. 
 
 (Alas, for the Baron ! the opportunity was 
 lost to the cause of investigation for ever; 
 the conversation continued persistently 
 general as they still stood grouped upon the 
 hearthrug.) 
 
 "Well, you see," said Bebe, "if Erie is 
 going to winter here (as of course he is), he 
 ought to be introduced, and put aufait with
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 191 
 
 the whole thing at once, and then he is sure 
 to enjoy himself. There are quantities and 
 quantities of charming people he must know, 
 and perhaps there are just one or two he 
 might as w T ell avoid." 
 
 " A few of the widows, for instance/' said 
 Hanleigh. " They are sometimes some of 
 them uncommonly kind !" 
 
 "Well," began Bebe sagely, " but — " 
 
 " Yes," the Baron interrupted him, with a 
 sardonic grimace. " Ha — ah ! There is cer- 
 tainly a masse of veedows at Pau ! And me ! 
 I am a veedow man — and ah ! yes ! it is 
 sometimes very deefficult, very deefficult in- 
 deed I" 
 
 This was uttered with an air of plaintive 
 depreciation that sent Gilbert and Morton off 
 into a fit of merry laughter again ; but Bebe* 
 was very solemn over it indeed. 
 
 " Yes 1" he sighed. " f Don't marry a 
 vidder, Sam !' But then, alas ! it is just the 
 thing Sam is so very apt to do !"
 
 192 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 " Hah, hah ! he has the opportunity, at all 
 events, here,'* laughed Captain Hanleigh ; 
 " and if he is lucky enough to escape ' a vid- 
 der,' long before the season is done, ten to one 
 he falls into the snares of a mature syren." 
 
 "Wa-a-h!" growled Bebe\ "Go on. I'll 
 sit perfectly still till you are done." 
 
 1 ' Fi done, Bebe I" cried Morton. " And 
 you — the acknowledged slave of Madame 
 Philistaire ! Oh, Beb6 !" 
 
 " Confessed, confessed ! ' sighed Bebe. 
 " And 'tis the knowledge of my chains that 
 makes me groan." 
 
 " I do not mind — them," drawled Hanleigh ; 
 " I won't abuse them. You know," he con- 
 tinued confidentially, " they are so awfully 
 safe." 
 
 " Peste ! — I do not know what you mean, 
 you, young, men," snapped the Baron sud- 
 denly, failing to catch exactly these new views 
 of the sex acknowledged fair and tyrannical, 
 and consequently much disgusted that he
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 193 
 
 should not be able to make sufficiently lucid 
 notes of the conversation, to build any novel 
 theory upon it when he went home. It dealt, 
 in fact, with matters in an age of the world's 
 history just a little ahead of him, and quite 
 beyond his old-fashioned and very chivalrous 
 ideas. 
 
 " Does that little woman we have here to- 
 night, St. Hilaire," continued Hanleigh pre- 
 sently, " belong to the phalanx of the fair 
 and frisky ?" 
 
 " Who T said Morton. 
 
 " Why, the Pole — Russian — or what is she? 
 that little woman with the killing eyes and 
 the yellow beads in her head V 
 
 " Are you talking of Madame Varia- 
 zinka V exclaimed Morton at last ; while 
 Gilbert, flushing up suddenly, he scarcely 
 knew why, turned upon Hanleigh with a 
 frown : 
 
 " What do you mean V he said in an angry 
 tone. 
 
 vol. i. 13
 
 194 The Bun-Maid. 
 
 " Is that her name ? I suppose that is 
 who I mean," continued Hanleigh coolly. 
 
 " She !" exclaimed Morton. " No, I should 
 not think so indeed ! Why, she has not been 
 at a single ball ever since I have known her, 
 and nobody could be less — that kind of thing 
 than she is." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! of the quiet sort, is she ?" said 
 Hanleigh sneeringly. " Well, I don't know 
 but that is not about the most dangerous 
 kind. She is awfully pretty in an odd kind 
 of way, and I call her double-barrels uncom- 
 monly dangerous — should not like to run the 
 fire of them I know ; I should be making an 
 1 ath' of myself." 
 
 " Not a very difficult achievement either," 
 growled Gilbert sotto voce to Bebe, as he bent 
 over the table to pour himself out a glass of 
 wine. 
 
 " Who is she ?" continued Hanleigh 
 
 again. 
 
 Morton coloured as he paused before
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 195 
 
 answering this question, and looked into the 
 blazing wood fire for a moment as if consider- 
 ing what he should reply. But suddenly, 
 before he had time to speak, the Baron turned 
 upon the big soldier, and exclaimed in an 
 authoritative tone, " Sir, I, did, not, quite, 
 understand, you, in, your, remarks, at, first, 
 but, now, I, do, penetrate, them, and, I, do, 
 request, that, you, make, not, this, lady's 
 name, a subject, of your discussion. She is 
 here, a stranger, and alone. The ladies of 
 your own nation and society, I leave to you, 
 but for Madame Variazinka, I demand, an 
 immunity, from your remarks." 
 
 " By Jove !" exclaimed Hanleigh, quite 
 taken aback by the Baron's outburst, " I 
 meant no offence I am sure. Mayn't a fellow 
 talk ?" 
 
 " If, he, will, mind, what, he, says," said the 
 Baron, with much knightly valour and deter- 
 mination, for which he was loudly applauded 
 by the younger men. 
 
 13-2
 
 196 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " But, hang it," continued Hanleigh, not 
 quite certain that it did not behove him to 
 get very angry, and to take a high hand, " I 
 do not want to interfere with your Madame 
 what's her name or with any other person in 
 whom you take an interest, Baron. I am not 
 given to walking into other people's gardens, 
 and I am sure we need not come over to the 
 coteaux in search of charmers fair and frisky, 
 youthful or mature : they flourish in abun- 
 dance, thank you, at Pau." 
 
 " Now don't go on I" cried Morton. " I 
 will not have my cousin prejudiced against 
 the whole of Pau society — now you have done 
 your best to doom the hunt in his eyes. 
 You and Bebe, Hanleigh, have managed to 
 give him anything but a pleasant impression 
 between you, so do leave him to make further 
 acquaintance with it all for himself." 
 
 "Ah!" began B(5b(5. "No, Erie, do not 
 be afraid : give yourself a little time — a few 
 sunny days — and you will soon fall in love
 
 Chronique Scandaleuse. 197 
 
 with Pau and with all of us. As for society, 
 and charming society, I assure you, just wait 
 a little bit, and you will see there are ' brown 
 eyes and grey eyes/ ' black eyes and blue/ that 
 before long will sparkle on the Place Royale 
 and in the beloved ballroom of the Gassion, 
 Hke unto the stars in the canopy of the 
 heavens of a winter night on the Pyrenees." 
 
 " Very well said," remarked the Baron 
 approvingly, feeling it was the sort of thing 
 he liked to say himself, and that in fact it 
 would have come very much better, if he had 
 thought of it, from him ! Indeed, he, as well 
 as Bebe, was given to much extravagance of 
 speech. They would probably have gone on 
 now at any length snatching the thread of 
 conversation jealously from, one another ; 
 but up rose the elderly trio from the 
 table at that moment, and they ail simul- 
 taneously realised the immediate duty of 
 joining the ladies in the other room. As 
 they hurried through the hall, finishing the
 
 198 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 fragments of their conversation together, 
 Be* be* came sauntering with Gilbert behind, 
 and as he went he trolled out in his favourite 
 style of philosophic and musical soliloquy the 
 " results logical " of the " discussion general ' 
 as it presented itself to him. 
 
 " Brown eyes or blue eyes — hazel or grey, 
 What are the eyes that I drink to to-day 1 
 
 " No matter their colour, I drink to the eyes 
 That weep when I weep ; when I laugh, laugh replies !"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 COURT CARDS. 
 
 iN the drawing-room they found 
 Madame la Marquise absorbed in 
 a game of Patience. Sitting in 
 the middle of the floor at a small card-table, 
 she looked certainly very like an old French 
 picture to-night ; her hair frizze to its highest 
 pitch, her dress beautiful, her jewels sparkling 
 as her pretty fingers played rapidly across 
 the outspread cards. 
 
 Madame de Veuil and the Comtesse de 
 Beaulieu stood one on each side of her, both 
 deeply interested with her in her occupation,
 
 200 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 — they were competing with a new ' Patience* 
 just imported to Pan. This was an event of 
 the most exciting nature, and one worthy of 
 much attention and study. With hand up- 
 lifted, the old Comtesse stood, her eyes flitting 
 eagerly across the shoulder of the Marquise 
 from card to card, while Madame de Veuil 
 pressed the points of her fingers to her 
 lips in profound meditation, as the queens, 
 knaves, and aces mingled themselves in obsti- 
 nate and despairing confusion. Exclama- 
 tions of "Mon Dieu !" "Tiens!" "Doucement, 
 doucement !" " Hah c'est epouvantable 1" 
 " Mais !" " Ciel !" and many other such 
 (equally expressive and assistive) broke un- 
 ceasingly from the lips of all the three ladies 
 as their efforts still failed in success. Mrs. 
 Carlisle sat also in this group, but her interest 
 in their amusement was evidently cool ; a 
 faint smile of cynical disapproval sat upon 
 her countenance as these cries of childish 
 excitement and enthusiasm burst from the
 
 Court Cards. 201 
 
 two foreign ladies, and from that renegade 
 compatriot of hers who had so fallen from 
 the frigid dignity due to her nation and her 
 name. 
 
 Miss Carlisle was improving her French 
 accent by conversation with Mademoiselle de 
 Veuil, who was a bright pleasant girl, a taller 
 and handsomer edition of her younger sister ; 
 and on a sofa, a little drawn back from the 
 card-table and its surroundings, sat Madame 
 Zophee, listening with soft answers and sym- 
 pathetic eyes to many tender little confidences 
 from Jeanne. 
 
 As the gentlemen entered the Marquise 
 looked up from, her absorbing game. 
 
 " You wicked persons!" she said in French. 
 " What a time you have been. I regret infi- 
 nitely that we bored you so much at dinner 
 that you required a long period of refresh- 
 ment and repose." 
 
 " Ah, Madame," cried Bebe, coming to the 
 front as usual at once, "we have had such
 
 202 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 exciting topics of conversation we could not 
 tear ourselves away. We have been discuss- 
 ing — ' Pau society/ he added, with affected 
 dignity, "and we have enlightened Sir Gilbert 
 Erie as to all the pitfalls spread for his de- 
 struction." 
 
 " Discussing Pau society !" exclaimed the 
 Marquise, " which means that you, you wicked 
 precocious Bebe, have been talking scandal, 
 and saying a great many illnatured things ; 
 you and the Baron between you. Ah, I 
 know you both !" 
 
 " Ah, Madame, de grace !" cried the Baron, 
 pausing as he was making his way very 
 quietly towards Madame Zophee across the 
 room. Pausing unwillingly indeed, but the 
 glove thus so openly cast down in chal- 
 lenge to him must needs be at least picked 
 up. 
 
 " I will not have my nephew's mind 
 poisoned," the Marquise continued. " I mean 
 him to enjoy Pau and to love it, and you will
 
 Court Cards. 203 
 
 undermine me I know, you two, with your 
 tongues." 
 
 "True, Madame, true!" cried Bebe. "' Nil 
 a-dmirari ' is in these days, I grant you, the 
 only philosophy that pays ; but pray waive 
 the dispute for a moment — hold ! what pretty 
 amusement have we here ? A new Patience — 
 delightful ; allow me — may I take this plage V 
 
 He had glided gently in between Madame 
 de Veuil and the Marquise, and had found a 
 stool pushed under the table by the latter's 
 side. He dropped on one knee upon it, and 
 very coolly began to rearrange the packets 
 of cards next to him, for which proceeding 
 his fingers were instantly and sharply rapped 
 by the Marquise's fan. Vociferous alterca- 
 tions followed in mingled French and 
 English, at which the Baron stood laughing 
 immoderately, delighted at the discomfiture 
 of his usual companion-in-arms. Bebe de- 
 clared he knew intimately the mysterious ways 
 of this game of Patience, having been taught
 
 204 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 it by an old Frenchman more than a year 
 ago; while Madame declared that that was 
 impossible, for it was a newly-invented game, 
 and the Prefet himself had shown it to her in 
 strictest confidence when she had dined at the 
 Prefecture only a night or two before ; she 
 had half-forgotten it, but was determined to 
 puzzle it out again, and she would not admit 
 the idea of Bebe^s superior knowledge, nor be 
 instructed by him on any terms. They 
 wrangled away, much to their mutual edifica- 
 tion, and to the amusement of Gilbert, who 
 lingered in the circle of the lookers-on. 
 
 Meanwhile Morton slipped quietly over and 
 gained the position the Baron had coveted in 
 Jeanne's vicinity and by Madame ZopheVs 
 side. He satisfied himself by gazing and 
 smiling at the former as she sat opposite him, 
 blushing and sparkling with happiness, and 
 nestling close to Madame Zophee. It was to 
 the last-named lady that he had come to 
 speak.
 
 Court Cards. 205 
 
 " I hope you have forgiven us," he said in 
 English and in a low tone, " for having broken 
 our compact — by introducing a stranger unper- 
 mitted to you to-night ; it could not be helped, 
 you know : my cousin must have taken you 
 in to dinner as it happened, according to the 
 proper arrangement of the people generally. 
 I hope you did not mind." 
 
 "Not at all," she answered. "In fact I. 
 had forgotten our compact. Somehow, be- 
 longing to you, he did not seem a stranger at 
 all." 
 
 " Then you liked him ? I am so glad." 
 
 " Yes, I did extremely ; he is wonderfully 
 pleasant and bright." 
 
 " And under which head, pray, does he 
 come in your classification of Englishmen ?" 
 
 " My classification ? — I do not know — let 
 me see — what did I say about Englishmen ? 
 I do not recollect." 
 
 " Well, you are not generally very compli- 
 mentary to the nation. Do you not remember
 
 206 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 one evening last summer on the croquet- 
 ground you ran down the species c British 
 traveller ' very severely indeed V 
 
 " Ah ! I remember. No, I did not do that 
 exactly, did I ? I did not mean to do so I 
 am sure, for it would be unjust in one — who 
 have seen too few of the nation — to judge. 
 But what I think I must have said is what I 
 have often realised with regret, that the ideal 
 Englishman of our youthful fancy, taught by 
 Corinne and such rulers of romance, is no 
 more. The man, I mean, who came among 
 us in foreign lands to awe and inspire us 
 with a dignity of presence and a degree of 
 intellectual culture to which we were un- 
 used. A wonderful being, was he not ? 
 combining everything that was attractive, 
 according to our ideas. Refined, artistic, re- 
 served, marble in exterior manner and coun- 
 tenance, and full of beautiful and impassioned 
 sentiments all suppressed below. He scattered 
 gold in roubles around him, for na-chai — tea-
 
 Court Cards. 207 
 
 money I mean — and did not know the mean- 
 ing of the term kopeck. He had marvellous 
 adventures too, and did wonderful things 
 always on a jet-black steed. Ah, where has he 
 gone ? Do you not remember him ? How 
 we did admire him ! I fear he went out of 
 fashion with the post-carriage and four fleet- 
 ing steeds with which he used to travel." 
 
 " But surely he was a stuck-up fellow !" 
 said Morton. " I do not believe I should 
 have liked him really. I think the present 
 typical Englishman, when he is a thorough 
 gentleman, suits me better." 
 
 " I dare say," said Madame Zophee, looking 
 over with her quiet meditative glance to where 
 Gilbert stood, bending over his aunt's shoulder 
 and her frizze head, his eyes glistening with 
 amusement as he watched the game. " You 
 may be right. I think I should like that type 
 if I knew it well ; there is something wonder- 
 fully fresh and happy about the character. 
 But when I spoke of Englishmen last summer,
 
 208 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Vicomte, I know what I was thinking — of 
 Paris and of months I have spent there, and of 
 Baden and Homburg, and even of St. Peters- 
 burg too. The English of whom I have seen 
 something in these places did not make me 
 admire their country or themselves : most of 
 them were men ignorant of art and insensible 
 to historic association or natural beauty, or 
 anything that used to bring my grand old 
 EDglish hero abroad in his chariot ; and they 
 seemed to like only to give us to understand 
 that they were 'tout ce qu'il y a de plus 
 Parisien ' in all the knowledge and tastes and 
 habits which are of Paris the perdition and 
 doom. And they used to boast — how do you 
 say it V 
 
 " Swagger," suggested Morton. 
 
 " Well, yes, so — of the money they lose at 
 Baden and Monaco, and of the places where 
 they amuse themselves, of which in our society 
 we do not speak at all ; and so altogether they 
 seemed to me but a poor edition of the worst
 
 Court Cards. 209 
 
 form of Russian, who at least carries off his 
 extravagance and his gamblings with that dig- 
 nity and magnificence by which he notoriously 
 ruins himself en prince. " 
 
 " You have seen a bad side of my mothers 
 countrymen I fear," said Morton. " I hope 
 Gilbert will persuade you to alter some of 
 your views." 
 
 " I should like to do so. When I was 
 young I was very enthusiastic for England, 
 because at my guardian's I read so many 
 English papers and books ; I was disappointed 
 when we went into society in Baden and 
 Paris, I can assure you." 
 
 " But indeed that is only one type of the 
 nation, Madame ; there are others as well." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; in Russia once at my guar- 
 dian's I saw another type — he was 'an English 
 bear ;' he came with a letter to us ; but he was 
 worse, I think — not my old dear hero at all, 
 though he was very learned indeed, and full 
 of ideas and notions. Oh ! but so rough, and 
 
 vol. i. 14
 
 210 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 disliking so much the drawing-room and the 
 ladies old or young, and always saying so. I 
 remember how my little cousin, the Comtesse 
 Zaida, was furious. She did not think the man 
 lived, I can tell you, who could resist her 
 smiles ; but he did ; he often turned his back 
 upon her in her own reception-room, and talked 
 to her father (my guardian) about govern- 
 ments and taxes and serious literature in an 
 obstinate, dogmatic, uncomplimentary way 
 that little Zaida thought unsuitable to her pre- 
 sence indeed. I did not mind him so much, 
 because I was a little interested; he spoke well, 
 and he had much to say, but I did not like 
 him. No. He had none of the graces of life 
 in his address or person, and I did not admire 
 the type. And yet the Ambassador said, I 
 remember, one evening to my guardian, that, 
 excepting for the taint, as he called it, of 
 Radicalism in the character, it was about the 
 best type of man they were sending out of 
 the Universities in England in these days :
 
 Court Cards. 211 
 
 he said he was great intellectually, and I was 
 very sorry, for I did not like him at all," 
 
 " Well, I must say you cannot classify my 
 cousin under either head," said Morton. 
 
 " No, no, indeed. I like him, I think I do, 
 very much. But he is so very young. He is 
 not as old as you are, Vicomte ? surely not V 
 
 " He is just about it, but he is young, 
 somehow, and more so in manner and mind 
 than in absolute looks ; that is, you see, 
 Madame, because, as we say in English, he 
 has been tied all his life to his mother's apron- 
 strings." 
 
 " You mean he has been always at home, 
 he is campagnard, rustic ; but he is not at all 
 commonplace, all the same. Ah ! how can one 
 be so youthful and look so happy as that T 
 she added suddenly, pointing to Gilbert's face 
 glowing with merriment just opposite to 
 them. 
 
 " He is a dear jolly fellow," said Morton, 
 with most earnest affection and approval, 
 
 14-2
 
 212 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 " and I am sure, Madame, there is a great 
 deal besides all that fun in him too — it will 
 come out. I believe there is often just as 
 much underneath in the character of En- 
 glishmen now that they hide it with that 
 John Bull cheeriness as there used to be 
 in your old-day hero who shut himself up 
 in a stony reserve. It is reserve all the same, 
 I fancy, in reality — I have enough of the 
 Englishman in me, Madame, to realise that. 
 Eh ? do you not agree with me ? Observing 
 him, for instance, now." 
 
 "Yes, I do. To speak artistically, Mon- 
 sieur Morton, and without pretence at any 
 special power of penetration into character, 
 there is a great deal more than the reflection 
 of his laugh in the changeful light and shade 
 of his blue eyes ; and observing artistically 
 as I say, if I wished to paint my ideal of 
 Davidov, our young soldier-poet — the Korner 
 of our Russia — I should like to have my 
 model for the expression I should want [from
 
 Court Cards. 213 
 
 that bright brave glance, and from a peculiarly 
 sensitive curl and quiver of the upper lip 
 which was one of the first things I remarked 
 in your cousin's profile as he sat next me for 
 just one moment in silence at dinner to-night. 
 But, dear me ! here he comes towards us, and 
 we must try to look as if we had not been 
 discussing him in every possible light, philo- 
 sophic and artistic, to say nothing of charac- 
 teristic and national." 
 
 " Hah, Gilbert ! take my place," said 
 Morton, rising with ready alacrity and a 
 happy unconsciousness of manner as his 
 cousin approached ; a proposal that was less 
 unselfish than it appeared, for there was an 
 opposite corner of the sofa vacant on little 
 Jeanne's other side. It looked most suitable 
 for himself, he thought, if he thus magnani- 
 mously resigned Madame Zophee to Gilbert. 
 
 But it was all too late to be of much 
 avail on Gilbert's behalf A very pleasing 
 impression remaining in his mind from their
 
 214 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 introductory conversation during dinner had 
 inclined him often to glance towards the 
 corner where his cousin and Madame Zo- 
 phee sat in such confidential and comfort- 
 able-looking converse, and had disposed him 
 many times to desert the merry party at 
 the card-table and to join them over there. 
 But he delayed the move too long as it 
 turned out, for he had but just dropped into 
 Morton's proffered seat, feeling particular satis- 
 faction in doing so, when the door opened 
 and the Groom of the Chambers of the 
 Marquis glided in to whisper mysterious 
 announcements to the Comte de Beaulieu, 
 Monsieur de Veuil, and others. Following 
 him came Baptiste, who walked over to that 
 special corner at which Gilbert had at last 
 arrived, and informed them in suppressed 
 tones of extreme confidence that " the carriage 
 of Madame Variazinka awaited her." 
 
 The pleasant dinner-party was over. 
 
 "Oh, not yet,"remonstrated Gilbert. "Surely
 
 Court Cards. 215 
 
 it is quite early still. Not just yet, please," — 
 for Madame Zophee had moved immediately. 
 
 " Yes, at once it must be. You remember 
 I told you my horses are favourites, and surely 
 you of all people would not wish me to keep 
 them waiting." 
 
 " Ah ! of course not ; I never thought of 
 that. I am so sorry. But at all events I 
 may go to the door and see your horses, 
 may I not V he added, rising to make way for 
 her and to offer his arm. 
 
 " You may, my Vasilie will be proud of the 
 attention, only I fear it is rather dark. Stay 
 a moment — I must say a number of good- 
 nights." 
 
 And there were many to say. First to the 
 Marquise, who enfolded her in a kindly em- 
 brace, complaining bitterly the while of Bebe 
 and his tiresome ways. Then to all the rest — 
 a smile, a friendly hand-clasp, or a gracious 
 bow ; and finally there was the Baron, who 
 first kissed her small soft hand, and then held
 
 216 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 it long between both of his own, caressing it 
 gently, and murmuring, " Prastchite, prast- 
 chite, galoupka moja M (" Farewell, farewell, 
 my dove"), while she smiled and answered 
 the old man's fatherly kindness with grateful 
 eyes and many soft Russian words. 
 
 Then at last Gilbert possessed himself of 
 her completely, and led her triumphantly from 
 the room, the Marquis and Morton lingering 
 (as they saw her under safe escort) to make 
 farewell speeches and compliments to their 
 remaining guests. 
 
 In the hall Gilbert had only time to say, 
 " How selfishly Morton has absorbed you the 
 whole evening to be sure !" when conversation 
 was arrested, for they came upon Baptiste 
 obtruding himself with Madame's equipments 
 much in front of the row of other domestics, 
 who were assembled now again to help the 
 guests to depart. 
 
 Next to Baptiste stood a very tall man in a 
 peculiar costume, with a fair rugged coun-
 
 Court Cards. 217 
 
 tenance very strongly in contrast to all those 
 around him. He bowed lower than any of 
 them as Madame Zophee approached, and she 
 smiled when she saw him, and said, " Ah, 
 Vasilie !" adding some words in Russian. He 
 answered, " Sluches " ( l( I hear and obey "), 
 and immediately walked to the door, flung it 
 open and disclosed the bright lights of the 
 carriage without. At the same moment the 
 huge head of an immense mastiff appeared 
 round the corner, obtruding himself humbly, 
 but with very longing gaze into the hall. 
 
 " Oh, you beauty !" cried Gilbert, drawing 
 Madame ZopheVs glance towards the en- 
 trance as he spoke. 
 
 " You naughty Lustoff!" she said. "Who 
 gave you leave to come here ? No — do not 
 come in, sir, do not come in/' for one big paw 
 was immediately laid upon the inner step as 
 she raised her voice. " Do not come in. For 
 shame !" she continued, and the paw was 
 withdrawn again, while the big face and the 
 brown eyes looked wistful and disconsolate.
 
 218 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " My love, I am coming," she called to him 
 in a soothing voice ; and, " Thank you, Sir 
 Gilbert/' she added, as he wrapped her closely 
 in her swansdown mantle. 
 
 The white feathery ruff came up close round 
 her neck, and was so becoming that she 
 looked prettier than ever, in it and more un- 
 common even than she had done before. 
 
 ff How deliciously soft and warm !" he ex- 
 claimed admiringly. 
 
 " Yes, it is warm- — a medium, you know. I 
 thought it too hot still to think of fur. Now 
 will you put this on for me ? But I do not 
 believe that you can/' 
 
 " Why, what is it ?" he said, taking from 
 her and turning about awkwardly in his fingers 
 a piece of soft crimson material, all embroidered 
 with delicate tracings of silver and gold. 
 "Please — oh, I cannot. Where is the opening?" 
 
 They both laughed, and then she showed 
 him, twisting it dexterously and throwing it 
 over her head.
 
 Court Cards. 219 
 
 " It is a Baschlik," she said, still laugh- 
 ing at his difficulties. " It is the old national 
 head-dress of the women of Russia. I bought 
 this one at the Gastinnoi Dvor, the bazaar 
 I mean, at Moscow, and I think it makes 
 such a cosy head-covering for evening dissi- 
 pation — do not you V 
 
 He thought she looked too enchanting for 
 anything, thus hooded and cloaked, and he 
 laughed merrily again and exclaimed, " Why, 
 you would do now for a masquerade in that 
 costume I declare !" 
 
 " I dare say I should, but I am not going to 
 
 one just at this moment, only home to bed. 
 
 And all this time my Volga and Yazuza are 
 
 waiting, and Vasilie and Ivan must think I 
 
 have a heart of stone/' 
 
 He gave her his arm again, and out they 
 
 went to the porch entrance, where there stood 
 
 waiting for her the daintiest of little 
 
 broughams. The door was held open by the 
 
 big Vasilie, a pair of dark bay horses driven
 
 220 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 by another man in a similar costume were 
 champing their bits impatiently at the delay, 
 and there was Lustoff, ineffectually held back 
 by Vasilie's hand, scrambling forward with a 
 rush to rub his head against Madame Zophee's 
 dress as she passed him into the carriage. 
 
 " Good dog — down. Now, as you have 
 come, you may just trot quietly home again. 
 Good-night, Sir Gilbert, do not stand in the 
 cold." 
 
 " Cold ! it is glorious. I could stay here 
 for ages ! ' he exclaimed. " Good-night, 
 Madame Zophee, good-night." 
 
 And then he did stay. The brougham 
 rolled slowly down the steep descent from 
 the chateau, the lamps glistening brightly 
 illuminated its way, and a little behind it 
 might be seen the dark form of Lustoff trot- 
 ting slowly along, a faithful and untiring 
 guard. And so they all rolled into the dis- 
 tance through the beautiful still autumn night, 
 under the splendid canopy of the dark-blue
 
 Court Cards. 221 
 
 heavens with its myriad of clear glittering 
 stars, until the shade of the hanging boughs 
 absorbed the lamplights, and hid them com- 
 pletely from Gilbert's view. Then he turned 
 with a short and unconscious sigh, just 
 as Morton with a train of other ladies 
 and gentlemen came trooping up to the 
 door. Other carriages were called, last good- 
 nights were said, ladies were handed in and 
 gentlemen sprang after them, and in ten 
 minutes every guest was gone. 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow," said Morton, half 
 an hour afterwards, to Gilbert in the smoking- 
 room, " I hope you were not bored." 
 
 " Not a bit," exclaimed his cousin. " On 
 the contrary, I thought it all capital fun. I 
 was amused immensely, I can assure you, 
 from the beginning of the evening to the 
 end." 
 
 Morton looked at him curiously, at his 
 placid and life- enjoying countenance, not self-
 
 222 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 satisfied, and therefore not irritating in the 
 least, but contented, complacent, and, as he 
 said himself, " amused." Madame Zophee 
 was right ; Gilbert was wonderfully young in 
 his way of looking at life. Had he never, 
 thought Morton, done anything but amuse 
 himself? Never felt a sentiment stronger 
 towards anything than these two extremes of 
 his, " a bore" or " immense fun " ? 
 
 " You got on with your neighbour at 
 dinner?' Morton continued. 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes. How nice she is ! Quite 
 different, you know, from anybody I have 
 ever seen before." 
 
 " I dare say," said Morton. " And you 
 will not see many like her in time to 
 come." 
 
 " No ? Why should I not ? Are not most 
 Russians like her ? I was just thinking they 
 must be a very pleasant sort of nation." 
 
 " She is not altogether Russian, I fancy," 
 said Morton.
 
 Court Cards. 223 
 
 " Really !" said Gilbert, between the puff- 
 ings of his cloudy pipe. " Really !" 
 
 It did not seem to him to convey much, one 
 way or the other, whether she was Russian 
 or not, only he did not exactly see anything 
 more extraordinary or out of the way — to his 
 mind — that she could possibly be. 
 
 " No, I fancy not," continued Morton. 
 "You see," he went on meditatively with 
 interest, as if the subject had been one of 
 frequent reflection with him, " there are a 
 great many points about her that are not 
 Russian at all, and little things she has often 
 said confirm me in the opinion, though of 
 course one always is so careful not to draw 
 towards subjects in conversation that would 
 make her fancy we were trying to dive. But I 
 sometimes think that she is simply a Pole." 
 
 " A Pole ? ah, yes !" exclaimed Gilbert 
 with sudden energy, as if fired by a brilliant 
 inspiration. " Of course Poland is quite 
 close to Russia."
 
 224 The Sun-Maid, 
 
 " It is ; but, up to a few years ago, being 
 one or the other was a widely different 
 affair." 
 
 " Of course, they are always fighting," said 
 Gilbert decisively. " But has she not told 
 you all that in these years ?' 
 
 " Not a word. In fact, you would be 
 astonished, Gilbert, if you could realise how 
 absolutely nothing — nothing at all — we know 
 about her, though she has lived at our park- 
 gates there for five years." 
 
 " You mean you do not know who she is, 
 and all that ?" exclaimed Gilbert, opening his 
 eyes very wide indeed, and sitting bolt up- 
 right in his luxurious smoking-chair in real 
 disregard of his pipe. 
 
 " Not a bit," said Morton. " Who she is, 
 who her father or mother were, or who her 
 husband was, or whether she ever had one, or 
 anything about him. No ; I am wrong in 
 saying we do not know if she ever had a hus- 
 band, because she says she had, and," he
 
 Court Cards. 225 
 
 added enthusiastically, "she is as true as 
 gold." 
 
 " How extraordinary I" exclaimed Gilbert ; 
 " why, it is like a book ! But, by Jove, of 
 course Baron Keffel knows ; he has been in 
 Russia. Why don't you ask him, Mor- 
 ton ?" 
 
 " Because he knows nothing — no more 
 than we do. He lias only travelled once" a 
 little in Russia, and got up a few words of 
 the language ; but he knows nothing at all 
 of the people ; in fact, that is just what 
 travellers do not do in an ordinary way. It- 
 takes more than a journey from Archangel to 
 Kasan to know the very outermost run of 
 Russian society. No, he has only fallen in 
 love with her like everybody else about 
 here." 
 
 " But," continued Gilbert, on whose organs 
 of bewilderment these communications had 
 made a great impression — swamping indeed 
 for the moment all individual interest in the 
 
 VOL. i. 15
 
 226 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 lady per se — "could not you find out? could 
 not you make inquiries ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Morton, with much indigna- 
 tion, " I dare say we could. I suppose if you 
 had such a neighbour in England, you would 
 set ' Pollaky's Private to work, but that is 
 not what we call friendship or hospitality 
 here on the Pyrenees. No, we take her for 
 herself, and are thankful when she will deign 
 to let us have anything at all of her. Five 
 years is enough to prove a person, I think, 
 without asking questions or showing imper- 
 tinent curiosity." 
 
 " But it is so extraordinary." 
 
 " It is, but so it is," continued Morton. 
 " When my mother came to like her so much, 
 and to try to draw her here at the beginning, 
 she told her plainly one day that if she 
 wished to have her, we must take her on her 
 own ground simply and for herself. She 
 allowed there was mystery, she made no 
 secret of that ; but she said she could tell
 
 Court Cards. 227 
 
 nothing then or at any time, and we 
 forebore questioning of course. And so we 
 know nothing more of her to-night, Gilbert, 
 than we knew five years ago — except that we 
 know more fully, what we then discerned, 
 that she is the best and sweetest woman that 
 ever breathed, and ten times worthy of all the 
 confidence that is placed in her. The Prin- 
 cess, you know whom I mean, " our Princess " 
 at Pau, knows a little more about her than 
 we do, but not much. She had a letter from 
 some very great Russian people when 
 Madame Zophee came here, speaking of her, 
 and recommending her to friendly notice. 
 The Princess was very kind to her from the 
 first, which is not wonderful, because she is 
 kind to everybody, and would be certainly 
 especially so to any one lonely and desolate 
 as Madame Zophee appeared to be ; but 
 now, apart from kindness, she is quite as 
 fond of her as we are. Indeed, I, beyond 
 liking, honour Madame Zophee very much 
 
 15-2
 
 228 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 and the life that she leads here ; she is always 
 doing some one good." 
 
 " She is very charming, no doubt/' said 
 Gilbert, who had gone comfortably back to 
 his pipe. 
 
 " She is," said Morton ; and then he went 
 on, evidently inclined, probably under Jeanne's 
 influence as well as Madame Zophee's, to be a 
 little sentimental to-night. " She is, and she 
 has behaved so well altogether. You know I 
 got awfully hard hit when she first came 
 here, though I had cared for Jeanne since she 
 was a child. But Jeanne was away at school, 
 and there was Madame Zophee in and out 
 with my mother, and adored by her, and if 
 she had liked it just then Jeanne's chances of 
 my fidelity were gone. But she did do it 
 wonderfully (Madame Zophee I mean) — won- 
 derfully, never seemed to see it, you know ; 
 but somehow just quietly and imperceptibly 
 her coming ceased to be, and when I have 
 been at home she has never dined here, not
 
 Court Cards. 229 
 
 once until to-night. It was so graceful of 
 her to come too, I think. Jeanne adores her, 
 and some way or other she has managed to 
 develop in my mind into the sweetest and 
 dearest of friends." 
 
 " I think you are a very lucky fellow, 
 Morton," said Gilbert, in answer, in tones 
 philosophic but also very contented indeed, 
 shaking the dust out of his pipe the while, 
 and emitting a yawn that was most suggestive. 
 He eyed his cousin a little curiously too, 
 and was, in fact, making the mental observa- 
 tion that " It was true, after all — Morton was 
 sentimental certainly, but then, you know, 
 it must not be forgotten that he was half 
 French."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PRINCESS OF THE CHALET. 
 
 yH?§T was astonishing how much more 
 at home that little dinner made 
 
 Gilbert feel with them all when 
 they met next morning at the late combina- 
 tion of breakfast and luncheon which the 
 Marquise had established as a compromise 
 between habits English and French. He felt 
 au fait with the social politics of Pau ; he 
 could discuss the eccentricities of the old 
 Baron, the absurdity of Bebe Beresford, and 
 the snobbishness of Captain Hanleigh, much 
 to Morton's satisfaction and his own. The 
 Marquise was highly indignant, when the
 
 The Princess of the Chdlet. 231 
 
 after-dinner conversation was repeated to her, 
 to find that Pau sports had been run down, 
 and Pau matrons and widows submitted to 
 sarcastic criticism. 
 
 " Do not listen to a word of it all, Gil- 
 bert !" she exclaimed, as she sipped her Sau- 
 terne and picked daintily at her cotelette 
 panee; " not to a single word of it. There 
 is nobody to be found at Pau — looking, if you 
 must, on the shadiest side of the social picture 
 — of whom you will not find the parallel in 
 any similar community collected for mutual 
 entertainment in every other part of Europe, 
 England, or elsewhere. People need not 
 lose their money over baccara at the Cercle 
 Francaise, or over whist and ecarte at the 
 English club to any scamp that turns up, 
 unless they please to do so ; and if they do, 
 why, they are geese, my dear, and they would 
 do it somewhere else if they did not do it at 
 Pau. And as to the ladies — " 
 
 "Oh," said Morton, wandering round the
 
 232 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 table to help himself from a Bordeaux pate 
 on the other side, " no fear of Gilbert on that 
 account, mother. He has been so fascinated 
 with that song of Bebe's about ' brown 
 eyes and black eyes, grey eyes and blue/ 
 that he is consumed with impatience for 
 the first band-day, that he may see them 
 all paraded and make a selection of his 
 shrine for the winters adoration, eh, Gil- 
 bert r 
 
 " I am sure I do not know what may 
 become of me before the winter sets fairly 
 in," said Gilbert. 
 
 " Now that is nonsense ! That is all Bebe's 
 fault and the Baron's and that horrid Cap- 
 tain Hanleigh's," cried the Marquise. " You 
 will not commit yourself after all they have 
 said. I know where you will be when the 
 winter sets in — just in the Rue du Lycee, 
 Pau, my dear nephew, and nowhere else, and 
 you will be delighted to l^e there, and very 
 much amused. Is that not true, Leon ?
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 233 
 
 Speak, wilt thou not ? Say, must not Gil- 
 bert stay here V 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," answered the Mar- 
 quis, who, like any excellent paterfamilias of 
 a British fireside, had been much absorbed all 
 this time in the perusal of his morning paper, 
 the Echo des Pyrenees. " Gilbert had better 
 come with me to-day, Violette. I must go 
 into Pau, and Morton also. It is the Prefet's 
 first reception-day since his return. Gilbert 
 must be presented to him." 
 
 "Good gracious!" cried Gilbert. "What 
 an ordeal ! Must I go through it ? and neces- 
 sarily to-day V 
 
 " You must go through it, my dear," said 
 his aunt, " because the Prefet and Madame 
 de Frontignac are very charming people, and 
 their evening receptions are delightful ; but I 
 do not see that it is imperative you should go 
 to-day — is it, Leon ?" 
 
 "I must go, cherie," he answered, "'and 
 Morton must accompany me ; as to Geel-
 
 234 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 bert, he can do as he please. I will tell the 
 PreTet of him, and say, if you like, that he 
 remains with you to-day, Yiolette, and will 
 pay his respects at another time. The next 
 Sunday or Thursday will be soon enough ;. 
 but Morton and I must not delay." 
 
 " Well, that is a nuisance," said Morton im- 
 patiently. " Gilbert and I were going to have 
 had a long ride to-day on Mike and Dinah,, 
 and we were to come round upon Chateau de 
 Yeuil to visit Jeanne and her people in the 
 afternoon. What a bore, father ! Must I 
 really go V 
 
 " Assuredly, Morton, without fail, you 
 must indeed.' , 
 
 " Ah, well, it cannot be helped then ; and, 
 Gilbert, if you don't care about coming into 
 town to-day, you must just ride alone." 
 
 "Well, I must say I like this side of the 
 country a good deal the best of the two as 
 yet," said Gilbert. " I should enjoy poking 
 about a bit on Dinah's back, if I may
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 235 
 
 take her, Morton ; it is awfully good of 
 
 you." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear fellow ; the stable is 
 at your service, take what you like. Dinah 
 would be the best, I dare say ; and I can just 
 point out a capital round for you, which we 
 can trace clearly in the view from the courtyard 
 gate, that will give you a ride of about three 
 hours over a beautiful bit of country." 
 
 " Then, dear child," said the Marquise in 
 soft tones, as she rose slowly from the table, 
 " I will not invite you to ' dowager ' in the 
 barouche with me, but after your ride, if you 
 like to give your old aunt an arm for a 
 quarter of an hour, you know where to find 
 me, on the terrace at my evening pro- 
 menade." 
 
 The Marquis and Morton soon started down 
 the avenue in the stanhope, and went bowl- 
 ing at a fine pace into town ; while Gilbert, 
 after prolonged colloquies with Joe over 
 French and English bits and bridlings, and
 
 236 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 all the national differences and peculiarities 
 in details of equestrian management, mounted 
 at length upon the broad fat back of Mistress 
 Dinah , and rode slowly out of the stableyard. 
 
 It was a splendid afternoon, such autumn 
 weather as is peculiar to the slopes of the 
 Pyrenees, and is worth a long journey to 
 enjoy. Radiant sunshine gladdened the 
 valleys and wrapped the mountain- tops in a 
 silver glory. The sweeping branches of the 
 oak and beech trees made abundant shadow 
 as he rode beneath them, and the sweet 
 mountain air met him as he cantered slowly 
 up the gentle sloping sides of the undulating 
 hills, fresh and delicious, cooling pleasantly 
 the atmosphere after the fiery rays of the 
 midday sun. 
 
 There was endless variety in the ride, and 
 at each moment some fresh object to amuse 
 or interest caught his eye as he dipped into a 
 valley or topped the low summit of a hill. 
 Morton had pointed out the way carefully to
 
 The Princess of the Ghdlet. 237 
 
 him, and by watching certain conspicuous 
 landmarks, he found himself winding through 
 the coteaux over a vast extent of ground, and 
 coming constantly upon new views of the dis- 
 tant mountains and new openings in the 
 valleys. 
 
 St, Hilaire and Chateau de Beaulieu and 
 Monplaisir and the villa of the De Yeuils 
 always remained in sight, towering upon their 
 different summits : although, as he wound 
 through the country below them and crossed 
 or circumvented the woody hills, they seemed 
 to change their position continually, and to 
 present themselves in fresh aspects from each 
 new point of view. 
 
 Sometimes he passed through a bit of 
 sombre monotonous pine wood, and then again 
 he would emerge upon a gentle descent into 
 a sylvan glade, traverse perhaps a stretch of 
 green meadow-land, and then w r ind along for 
 miles by a glistening stream, enjoying the de- 
 licious murmur as it fell gently on his ear,
 
 238 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 wondering over the excessive purity of the 
 transparent water and the marvellous tints of 
 beryl and emerald which it had gained far 
 away high up among the melting snows. 
 
 Often he passed a peasant settlement lying 
 on the hill-slope above him — a cosy well-built 
 cottage, ugly indeed as to architecture, but 
 picturesque withal from the rich autumn tints 
 of the leaves on the creepers that clustered 
 thickly over lattice and door ; a big dog, a 
 goat tethered to the pailings and nibbling at 
 the sprouting edges of the path, an old 
 woman cutting cabbage into a red earthen- 
 pot, a group of brown-legged children, a girl 
 leaning idly at the porch, with a laughing look 
 in her black eyes and a bright handkerchief 
 knotted round her head — one or all of these 
 gave to each wayside cottage action and 
 colour and life. Ascending a deep gorge that 
 reached seemingly far into the country, he 
 met a band of " bergers " — the mountain 
 shepherds — coming down into the lowlands
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 239 
 
 with their herds — wild picturesque-looking 
 fellows, dressed in their native costumes, with 
 tight grey breeches and untanned leather 
 gaiters, with odd-shaped hanging caps on 
 their heads, and with crimson sashes tied 
 loosely about their waists. Endless ox-carts 
 too came slowly towards him, sending the 
 familiar music of their tinkling bells before 
 them, heralding their approach, as they came 
 round a shady corner or wound through the 
 depth of a valley below. He passed many 
 maize-fields, where the men were gathering 
 the last relics of the autumn harvest and 
 loading high the ox-carts with the rich golden 
 grain ; and vineyards on every side covered 
 the sunny slopes, but the purple fruit was 
 already garnered and the leaves were falling 
 in a crimson and russet shower all over the 
 ground. 
 
 He enjoyed the ride ; and in this new 
 country, surrounded by such novel influences 
 of scenery and colouring, and light and shade,
 
 240 The Sim-Maid. 
 
 he enjoyed the solitude. He was accustomed 
 to ride alone, and in action and movement he 
 enjoyed even the silence. Breathing the soft 
 soothing air — his glance wandering over hill 
 and dale, mountain and river and wood — 
 watching the light become rosy and deep as 
 soft billowy clouds gathered over the hill-tops 
 and the sun began to set — he felt all the 
 while, without attempting to express to him- 
 self or to realise it, that the scenery and sun- 
 light and all the soft atmospheric influences 
 were creeping over his spirit and reaching the 
 very life-springs of his whole heart and being, 
 creating infinite new thoughts and senti- 
 ments, throwing strange reflections, vague 
 and shadowy, across his dreams, striking deep 
 somewhere within him musical and poetic 
 keys that vibrated in answer with an intense 
 and thrilling power that was sweet as it was 
 unfamiliar. 
 
 The sun was setting indeed when he at 
 last began to wonder whether he was far
 
 The Princess of the Chdlet. 241 
 
 from home. He had wound through meadow 
 and valley, and by vineyard and stream, so 
 long now, and he had turned round by 
 Chateau Beaulieu just, he thought, as Morton 
 had directed him, and yet he did not appear 
 to be getting any nearer to the lodge and 
 park-gates of St. Hilaire, nor did he seem to 
 be approaching it from the right side. It 
 was in fact easy enough to take a wrong 
 turning, and thus to lose one's way in these 
 winding paths of the coteaux, and so (having 
 drifted into a pleasant dream-land as he rode 
 along) Gilbert had very naturally done it. 
 
 So far from being now in the direct road to 
 Chateau St. Hilaire, and approaching it by 
 the south entrance as he had intended, so 
 passing up by the paddock and courtyard 
 to leave Dinah at her stable-door, he had 
 wandered over to the west, and the Pic de 
 Bigorre lay now behind him, while he was 
 really breasting the ascent towards St. Hilaire 
 out of the valley on the side below the terrace 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 2-12 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 walk. He had been there only the night 
 before with the Marquise, and had watched 
 the sunset view as it appeared in this aspect, 
 and he ought to have known it, but he did 
 not ; the road seemed very unfamiliar, and he 
 did not at all realise how he was to reach 
 home. 
 
 Suddenly the corner of a garden-wall at- 
 tracted him — an old lichen-grown wall, with 
 rich flowering creepers hanging low over it, 
 and beautiful almond and acacia trees tower- 
 ing beyond. 
 
 "I am outside the garden of St. Hilaire, no 
 doubt," he thought to himself, as he looked 
 up and saw the chateau on the hill above, 
 and as Dinah seemed to know the way, and 
 stepped briskly on, he felt satisfied, and let 
 her skirt round the wall and under the 
 shadow of the hanging creepers as fast as 
 she pleased. 
 
 The shrubs topping the creepers thickened 
 presently, and clusters of roses appeared
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 243 
 
 between them ; rich festoons of the " Mal- 
 maison," long hanging branches of the crimson 
 " Gdante" and of the golden " Gloire" twined 
 and rambled with careless and wonderful 
 luxury amid the acacias and almond-trees. 
 His head nearly reached them as he rode 
 along ; he could have stretched out his hand 
 easily, and robbed the bright rose-garden, but 
 he only looked in as he passed, wonderingly 
 and admiringly, and enjoyed the delicious 
 flower-scents that filled the soft evening air. 
 Suddenly Dinah stopped, cocked her ears in- 
 quiringly, and threw up her head, for the 
 rose-branches just above her were shaken 
 violently, and a shower of crimson petals fell 
 upon the sunny road. Gilbert urged her on ; 
 a few paces she advanced, then rounded a 
 corner, and this time he himself stopped her 
 again suddenly. 
 
 They had come upon a gateway — upon 
 stone pillars covered thick with roses ; upon 
 an opening stretching back through a garden, 
 
 16—2
 
 244 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 where a pathway leading between green 
 sward and clusters of bright-coloured flowers 
 reached to the open window of a low curious 
 house, Pointed gables faced with wood in 
 carved picturesque devices fronted the gate- 
 way. Wooden balconies crossed below the 
 upper windows, and wooden pillars supported 
 the porch top. Not in the least a Bearnais 
 house — a fanciful structure apparently ; and 
 — as he now realised, recollecting and recog- 
 nising at the same moment — evidently his 
 uncle's favourite extravagance, the Swiss 
 chalet, and as evidently Madame Zophee's 
 house. It was wonderfully pretty, lying on 
 the edge of the hill, with the vine-covered 
 slope rising above it, and a peep through the 
 gorges towards the mountain opening in the 
 view beyond. Flooded by the sweet light of 
 the autumn sunset, framed in rich colouring 
 by the scarlet Virginia creepers, the fading 
 western leaves, and the hanging tendrils of the 
 vine, it lay seemingly embowered in verdure,
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 245 
 
 in roses, and in brilliant and wondrous flower- 
 tints of every shade and hue. 
 
 Removing all doubt as to its ownership, 
 there, on the soft green sward before the 
 open window, lay LustofF, and in another 
 moment the rose-branches rustled and shed 
 their petals again, and out from among the 
 bushes came Madame Zophee herself. Her 
 white dress swept over the short grass ; a 
 snowy Pyrenean shawl, knitted in soft fluffy 
 wool, was thrown across her shoulders and 
 wrapped close about her neck ; she had a 
 bunch of crimson roses in her hand ; her 
 cheek was a little flushed in her exertions to 
 reach them, and her eyes were glistening 
 softly in the deep evening light. 
 
 " Sir Gilbert Erie," she said in her low 
 clear voice, as if slightly but very calmly sur- 
 prised to see him. 
 
 He took his hat off and bowed, and 
 answered, " Good evening, Madame Zophee," 
 which in his astonishment was all that oc- 
 curred to him to say.
 
 246 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 "What are you doing?" she continued, 
 smiling a little at him across the barrier of 
 the closed gate as he sat there on Dinah's 
 broad back, with his hat still in his hand, 
 looking admiringly about him. 
 
 " What are you doing upon my private 
 road ?" 
 
 " Your road, Madame Zophee ? I really 
 beg your pardon, but, do you know, I have 
 lost my way/' 
 
 " And most effectually too," she answered, 
 "if you hope to reach St. Hilaire on horse- 
 back by this road. You are really quite 
 wrong : you turned out of the proper path 
 about half a mile below ; this is my right of 
 way, Sir Gilbert ; this carriage-approach leads 
 only to my house." 
 
 "I am sure I beg your pardon," he said 
 again. " I am very sorry, but if you will for- 
 give me, I do not think that after all I can 
 really regret it so very, very much, for it is so 
 lovely here."
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 247 
 
 " Yes, the view is charming, is it not ? It 
 was quite worth your while just to ride up to 
 see it ; and if you will be very grateful I will 
 fetch my key and let you in by the gate below 
 the Marquis's walk into the grounds of St. 
 Hilaire, and if you do not mind leading your 
 horse you can get through the shrubbery up 
 to the stables by that way; it will save you a 
 round of quite a mile." 
 
 " Thank you so much," he answered. " I 
 have been very stupid." 
 
 " It was easy to make the mistake you 
 did ; the two roads are so exactly the same. 
 If you do not mind waiting I will fetch the 
 key in one moment." 
 
 " Thank you. I am so vexed to trouble 
 you. But please do not go just yet : let me 
 look for one minute more into your garden, 
 ilow beautiful it is !" 
 
 " Yes, my flowers have done well this year : 
 we had plenty of rain in the spring. But 
 these rose-bushes do grow so fast, and then
 
 248 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 — — ^ , — , 1 
 
 the best bloom is always so very high, quite 
 on the top. Look, I have been struggling for 
 the last half-hour with these large red ones, 
 and I have only managed to reach this one 
 bunch. " 
 
 He had sprung from his horse before she 
 had finished the sentence, and had thrown 
 the rein over the pillar by the gate side. 
 
 " May I not help you ?" he said. " Look ! 
 I can reach huge splendid clusters even from 
 this side, and I see beauties just over the 
 wall. May I come in ? I will gather them 
 for you, as many as you please." 
 
 He laid his hand on the upper bar as he 
 spoke, where her small white one lay already, 
 and he looked longingly across at her, anc 
 into the garden, where broad sheets of golden 
 light from the slanting rays of the low set tin 
 sun were stretching across the grass an 
 glistening through the evening mists that 
 were gathering under the shady hill. 
 
 " May I not come in ?" he repeated.
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 249 
 
 She too was looking up at him — her darkly- 
 shadowed eyes reflecting that warm sun-glow, 
 the colour deepening on her cheek — as he re- 
 peated the question. 
 
 "I think," she said, laughing lightly, "that 
 you might have waited till you were invited, 
 Monsieur : you know, I never have visitors. 
 And then," she added, as if conclusively, 
 " you cannot leave your horse." 
 
 " Oh yes I can ! Dinah evidently prefers 
 standing to moving ; just look at her, and 
 Morton says she does just as well by herself. 
 Let me only gather that one big bunch there 
 for }^ou, it looks so tempting hanging just 
 above your head." 
 
 " Yes, just above," she answered, " but just 
 high enough to be beyond me. I have been 
 gazing longingly at it this last half-hour. 
 Well, come in then ; will you gather it for 
 me ? Thank you ; you are very good." 
 
 He looked so bright and cheerful and un- 
 conscious as he tied up Dinah to the stone
 
 250 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 gate-post, that she pushed open the gate and 
 admitted him, with some mental assurance to 
 herself concerning his youth and inexperience. 
 There was the same reassuring boyishness in 
 his enjoyment too when he found himself 
 once within the garden. It was that some- 
 thing so practical and straightforward in his 
 manner as he looked around him and admired 
 that, as she thought, made intercourse with 
 him so pleasant and easy. Conversation 
 came so readily, and it always remained 
 so safely external, so far away from that 
 region of the sentimental which with his 
 cousin and with most of his cousin's nation 
 (at all events in language) was so quickly 
 reached. There was a sense of security which 
 she felt to be mutual, and with this there was 
 also a sense of enjoyment on her side of 
 his sunny looks and cheerful smiles and eager 
 hearty expressions that formed a temptation 
 to which she yielded, though hesitatingly, as 
 she drew the gate open and he passed in.
 
 The Princess of the Chdlet. 251 
 
 Then he gathered roses for her, his tall 
 height reaching the rich clusters that grew 
 far up against the sky, and he filled her 
 hands with them, in glorious masses of crim- 
 son and gold, until she could hold no more. 
 Yet still he gathered, and she stood by him 
 and exclaimed with delight as the long hang- 
 ing branches were drawn within her reach, 
 and the fading petals from the full-blown 
 flowers fell in soft coloured showers on the 
 green sward at her feet. 
 
 Soon his hands were full also, and he 
 turned to her smilingly again. 
 
 " Will that do V he said. 
 
 " Thanks many times, I am so glad. I 
 did so want to fill all my vases to-night, and 
 Vasilie and Ivan gather so roughly they make 
 all the petals fall." 
 
 "I fear I have brought down a great 
 many," he answered, looking at the tinted 
 carpet between them. 
 
 " No, you have not ; that is only natural ;
 
 252 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 they must come down. They are nearly over 
 now, they are all so full blown. And, ah 
 dear ! how I shall miss them when they are 
 quite gone !" 
 
 " Now I must carry them in for you," con- 
 tinued Gilbert. " What will you do with 
 them all ?" 
 
 " Fill my vases with them ; it is just what 
 I like. Will you carry them ? Oh thank 
 you. But — no, never mind ; leave them on 
 the grass here, and my Marfa shall fetch them 
 in. I must not keep you." 
 
 " Please do not say so. Look ! I have got 
 them all so nicely together in this great 
 bunch, may I not carry them as they are ? 
 It would be such a pity to lay them down. 
 Let me — do let me take them just to your 
 window." 
 
 " Will you ? Come then, and you shall 
 see how I arrange them in my huge jasper 
 vase." 
 
 And then she turned and walked up the
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 25: 
 
 Q 
 
 
 
 little pathway, he following closely and pick- 
 ing up a few scattered roses as he went that 
 had fallen from his hand upon the turf. 
 
 " Do you like my little house, Sir Gilbert ¥* 
 she said presently. " I hope you do, I am so 
 fond of it." 
 
 " I think it is perfectly delicious 1" he ex- 
 claimed ; " it is so pretty and picturesque, 
 and I never saw such flowers." 
 
 " It is not commonplace at all events," she 
 answered, as she paused beside him on the 
 narrow way and looked up at the windows. 
 And it is so pleasant having this glass-door 
 opening into the garden. This stone step is 
 my favourite seat ; and indeed on a fine 
 evening such as this is Lust off thinks I 
 should never be away from here." 
 
 " How lovely it is !" Gilbert exclaimed 
 again, turning as he reached the house to 
 look back across the garden. 
 
 The shadows were deepening now, the 
 mists thickening in the valley below, and a
 
 254 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 long stretch of soft pastoral scenery opened 
 away towards the west, where the Pic de 
 Bigorre, a dewy rose tint now in the evening 
 lights, stood up against the horizon of the 
 
 sk y- 
 
 " Come in," said Madame Zophee, but softly, 
 hesitatingly, from the window behind him. 
 " Come in, will you not, since you have come 
 so far?" and he crossed the threshold, bent 
 under the curtain of delicate lace-work that 
 hung in low festoons above his head, and 
 entered her room. Again he exclaimed in 
 tones of surprise, of bewilderment, and of 
 admiration. 
 
 It was certainly not a commonplace room — 
 low-ceilinged, and furnished with comfort, 
 with simplicity, and with elegance. Full of 
 causeuses and low fauteuils such as a lady 
 always, a man never, chooses for their re- 
 spective use. Beautiful tazzas of jasper, lapis- 
 lazuli, and malachite stood in different alcoves 
 and recesses, filled in luxuriant quantity with
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 255 
 
 roses and large virgin lilies that were already 
 fading from the great heat of the day. Curi- 
 ous unfamiliar-looking ornaments, in gold and 
 silver carving, in amber and delicate-hue d 
 marble, were strewn abundantly over every 
 table and chiffonniere ; glistening vases of ex- 
 quisitely-tinted glass covered the mantelshelf 
 and filled one small hanging cabinet, while 
 several others displayed treasures of china of 
 curious and various kinds. Right round the 
 room ran a low ebony bookcase quite filled 
 with books, all bound in the sweet-scented 
 leathers of Russia, and mostly named in the 
 cabalistic characters of the Russian type. A 
 thick Turkish rug made a resting-place near 
 the fire for Lustoff, now the dew fell and the 
 grass grew chilly without. A small piano, 
 made of ebony inlaid with silver, and with a 
 curious monogram worked into the wood, 
 stood open in one corner ; pieces of music 
 were strewed carelessly over it, and a broad 
 sun-hat was left lying on the top. All this
 
 256 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 he seemed to take in, in one rapid glance, 
 with several other details that struck him 
 still more curiously. One of these was a 
 picture hung high up in the west corner of 
 the room facing eastward. It was a portrait 
 evidently of a sacred character, for a glory 
 encircled the bending head, and on a golden 
 bracket just below there burnt a soft glowing 
 light. A small round table stood by a low 
 chair near the wood fire, and on this was 
 arranged what appeared preparations for a 
 curious and solitary repast. A shining salver 
 bore a small fizzing urn of antique shape in 
 gold and silver repousse work ; two tiny vases 
 of opaque glass stood on either side, filled, one 
 with big lumps of sugar, the other with slices 
 of lemon daintily cut and arranged ; one tal] 
 slim crystal tumbler stood in front of the urn, 
 and a plate of thin wafer biscuits completed 
 what appeared to him indeed most uncommon 
 fare. 
 
 The very pretty and artistic arrangement
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 257 
 
 of one part of the room remained still to 
 attract him. Close to the window by which 
 they had entered, standing half across the 
 lattice and half drawn back from it, was a 
 green wire folding screen with festoons of 
 flowers and leaves twining all over it, which 
 sprang from a narrow earth-trough that 
 ran round the edge. This enclosed a room 
 within the room — a little painting studio. 
 There was an easel surrounded by all the 
 artistic confusion of colours and palette and 
 brush, and on this rested an unfinished pic- 
 ture, which at length, as he glanced round 
 the room and its various curiosities and cha- 
 racteristics, fixed his attention and unsealed 
 his lips. Madame Zophee had been engaged 
 in disentangling her roses during the moment 
 that she had left him to gaze undisturbed, 
 and she had been merely murmuring on to 
 him her delight in their beauty and her 
 thanks to him for having gathered them, but 
 now she turned round again as he sprang 
 vol. i. 17
 
 258 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 towards the easel and exclaimed in his quick 
 impulsive way : 
 
 " Oh, Madame Zophee, how lovely ! Did 
 you paint this ? Why, how wonderful you 
 are ! Do you paint, and do you play ? Do 
 you do everything ?" 
 
 " I do very little of anything," she answered, 
 " except think and dream of doing a great 
 deal." 
 
 " But you painted this ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said quietly, coming up to him 
 as he stood before her picture, and looking at 
 it from a little behind him with half-closed 
 eyes in a meditative critical way, as if to test 
 its points with his assistance in a new light. 
 
 " But it is wonderful ! it is beautiful 1" he 
 went on. " What is it, Madame Zophee ? I 
 have never seen any scene like that — how 
 could you do it ? What have you taken it 
 from V 
 
 " I have seen it," she said. " It is not a 
 creation, only a memory. But I dare say it is
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 259 
 
 scarcely a scene you are likely to have come 
 upon in your native land. It belongs pecu- 
 liarly to mine." 
 
 "It is Eoman Catholic," he continued 
 vaguely, "is it not ? These are priests, 
 monks, or something of that sort, surely ?" 
 
 " It is the Atelier," she answered, " of 
 the Monastery of Troitsa, where I went once 
 with my guardian years ago, and which* has 
 stayed ever since in my memory and my 
 imagination as a dream of the Middle Ages." 
 
 "It is like something I have read of in 
 some old book," said Gilbert dreamily, " in 
 the big library at home. I wish I could 
 understand it ! Will you explain it to me V 
 
 " Well, you know, it is the workshop as 
 you would say, the atelier, just as I saw it, 
 and they are all busy, the holy solitary men, 
 each at his different art, each at his sepa- 
 rate easel. I remember how they sat there, 
 just like that, in their monastic robes, all 
 grave and silent, with that broad sheet of sun- 
 
 17-2
 
 260 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 light streaming through the window upon their 
 close-shaven heads ; and I thought, when I 
 saw them, of Fra Angelica illuminating his 
 precious manuscript in the quaint old times, 
 and so I never forgot them in all these years. 
 One was painting, like this old monk here, in 
 deep glowing colours such as these, grouping 
 delicately drawn figures on a background 
 such as I have copied, of golden scroll-work, 
 like fine chasing upon metal, only more 
 intricate still. Then on this side," she went 
 on, warming with the enthusiasm of the artist, 
 as she explained her work, " see they are 
 working on the silver settings of the Eikons. 
 That pale monk is hammering out a plate of 
 metal, embossing it on a pattern of wood ; 
 that one with the delicate features and the 
 eager look on his face is engraving the glory 
 rays ; that one is sinking gems in a riza ; this 
 one is gilding a frame ; and, look, this monk 
 quite by himself is repairing jewellery. I 
 have copied that bit of green enamel wrought
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 261 
 
 into arabesques on the stand there beside him 
 from an old piece I have upstairs ; and that 
 is the Greek cross of the Archimandrite he is 
 holding in his hand. See it ought to glitter 
 with sapphires and rosy beads. These are 
 sacramental cups embossed and gemmed with 
 rubies, and the rest are relics and crosses and 
 jewelled caskets, all brought for him to repair. 
 I am so glad you like my picture. I have 
 been working at it and dreaming over it for a 
 long time now." 
 
 " I think it is perfectly wonderful." 
 
 "It is only water-colour you see, but I 
 tried to finish it highly, and I think I have 
 succeeded just a little, though only very little 
 I fear." 
 
 "And that is your Church?" he said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes," she answered in her quiet, low, 
 steady tones. " That is my Church." 
 
 He sighed a short quick sigh, wherefore he 
 knew not, except that the picture impressed
 
 262 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 him, and his thoughts went rambling about 
 for a moment in a tangled sort of manner, 
 seeming to reach home and return again be- 
 fore he spoke. Then rousing himself to throw 
 off some effect of these reflections that seemed 
 to have fallen over them both, he said : 
 
 " You do paint beautifully ! and I suppose 
 you have quantities and quantities of others. 
 Ah ! I see — here is a great portfolio full," he 
 continued, delighted, as he observed one lean- 
 ing upon a sloping stand. " Oh, may I open 
 it — may I look at them ? Do let me, Madame 
 Zophee, please." 
 
 " How absurd you are !" she said, laughing 
 at his eagerness. " No, certainly not ; not this 
 evening at all events. Another time, perhaps ; 
 who knows, the Marquise may bring you 
 here again, and I will show them to you. 
 You are indeed a sympathetic spectator ; but 
 now, no, certainly not now. Have you for- 
 gotten your cousin's horse ?" she added re- 
 proachfully.
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 263 
 
 " Oh, she is all right !" he answered, 
 glancing towards the gate where Dinah's 
 nose appeared peaceably resting on the upper 
 rail. 
 
 " But my roses are not ' all right,' and I 
 must arrange them. But first, as you are 
 here, Sir Gilbert (where you were never, by 
 the way, invited to be), I must not neglect all 
 the ceremonies of hospitality as we hold them 
 in Bussia. You must eat of my salt and 
 drink of my chai." 
 
 She turned as she spoke, and took a little 
 silver embossed box from the table, and 
 opening it, held it out to him, and bade him 
 partake. It was filled with fine salt, of which 
 she took a pinch between her fingers and 
 made him do the same, then — with a wafer, 
 which was of plain flour, and therefore equi- 
 valent to bread as she said — she made him 
 eat it, standing opposite to her, while she 
 welcomed him in words of melodious Bussian, 
 and bade him softly to "come and go in peace."
 
 264 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 Then, as the ceremony was finished, she 
 laughed and turned to her fizzing tea-urn, and 
 sat down by the table on her low chair. 
 
 " Have you ever drank Russian chai ?" 
 she asked him. 
 
 " Do you mean tea ?" he replied. " Do 
 you drink it in tumblers and make it in the 
 urn ? How funny ! Do you not have a tea- 
 pot ? I have been all this time expecting to 
 see it come in." 
 
 cc This is not an urn/' she said indignantly. 
 
 " It is a samovar, and all arranged inside for 
 
 the tea-making. But it is not tea according 
 
 to your barbarous ideas of the beverage ; you 
 
 must call it chai, Sir Gilbert, and if you will 
 
 ring that bell for another glass you shall 
 
 drink it in the proper manner, without cream, 
 
 but with a slice of lemon instead." 
 
 The bell was not answered as he expected 
 by Yasilie, whom he was anxious to inspect 
 
 again in his odd-looking kaftan and shirt, but 
 
 by a tall woman whose dress and general
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 265 
 
 appearance, however, amazed him far more 
 even than Yasilie had done. She was a fine- 
 looking woman, with a pleasant expression, 
 clear complexion, blue eyes, and lint-light 
 hair, and her dress was extremely picturesque. 
 The snow-white chemisette and boddice and 
 short crimson skirts recalled some of the 
 Italian peasant costumes, but the head-dress 
 was quite peculiar. It was national, and to 
 those who could recognise it announced her 
 position in the house. It was a loose cap of 
 rich crimson satin, with a lofty diadem of the 
 same material, delicately embroidered in silver, 
 and worn high upon her forehead. 
 
 " What a magnificent personage !" ex- 
 claimed Gilbert, when Madame Zoph^e had 
 given her order, and with a murmured answer 
 of " Sluches" the woman had retired. 
 
 " Is she not ? My faithful Marfousha ! 
 she is such an excellent soul. She is my 
 nurse, or was, rather, in my juvenile days. 
 She has been with me since I was five years
 
 266 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 old, and will remain with me I trust till one 
 or other of us die." 
 
 "Your nurse — fancy! And is that the 
 correct costume of the profession ?" 
 
 " Yes, exactly so ; and she never likes to 
 give it up. I imagine she feels she would 
 sink to the level of an ordinary domestic if 
 she dropped her diadem, and would lose her 
 right, perhaps, to call me the ' douschinka/ as 
 I often overhear her do at present to Vasilie 
 or Ivan in the garden." 
 
 " Vasilie ? that is your manservant." 
 
 " Yes, the big yellow-haired fellow you 
 saw at St. Hilaire in the hail. A most 
 worthy person also, is Vasilie ; his name in 
 your tongue is William." 
 
 " He wears a wonderful costume too, does 
 he not V 1 
 
 " Yes, we are all very national together. 
 They seem to prefer wearing the dresses they 
 have always worn, and I do not see why they 
 should not be indulged."
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 267 
 
 " How did you get them all to natu- 
 ralise here V he asked. " I mean for all 
 these years. Do not they ever want to go 
 back to Russia, to their country and their 
 home ?" 
 
 " I have become a sort of movable ' patrie ' 
 to them, poor things," she said, smiling a little 
 sadly. " They are very good, they would 
 never leave me. They came here when T 
 came, you know ; and as I have never gone 
 back again, why, they have stayed. They are 
 free to go if they like, however; they were 
 once my serfs, but long ago, even before '65, 
 I had set them free." 
 
 " There are no serfs in Russia now are 
 there f 
 
 "No, thanks to our Alexander the great 
 and good. e Svobodnaya Rossia/ our Free 
 Russia, has at last sprung into life. And such 
 £i life it is too," she added, smiling with 
 enthusiasm ; " it already goes far to assure 
 us that the freedom of the Russian serf has
 
 268 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 been the greatest historic deed of our age in 
 any country whatever. " 
 
 " You must tell me much more about it 
 all," said Gilbert eagerly. 
 
 " Ah ! do not set me off on these kind of 
 topics, or you will be tired long before I am, I 
 can assure you. There is so much to think 
 about it, so much to know." 
 
 " And I know next to nothing," said he 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Ah, I should like to tell you — but no," 
 she continued decidedly, " we must not 
 wander into that sort of talk, it is too interest- 
 ing, it would last too long, and do you mean 
 ever to remember — what do you call her? 
 poor ' Deena ' — your cousin s horse ? See, 
 Marfa has brought your glass, and now before 
 you go you shall have some chai." 
 
 Then from the fizzing samovar Madame 
 Zophee poured the clear golden liquid that 
 (sweetened and flavoured with the citron juice 
 and peel) was indeed much more like a delicate
 
 The Princess of the Chdlet. 269 
 
 and exhilarating liqueur than anything con- 
 veyed to the Western minds by the word 
 tea. Gilbert thought it delicious, and sat 
 drinking it in a frame of mind strangely in 
 harmony with circumstances as they sur- 
 rounded him. It was very pleasant indeed. 
 
 " What a quantity of pretty books you 
 have !" he said presently, glancing round 
 the room again, as if to fix every one of its. 
 curious details in his mind. 
 
 "Yes, I am very dependent upon my 
 library ; you see, Sir Gilbert, I have a great 
 deal of time on my hands." 
 
 "But they are all Greek — worse than that 
 to me," he said. "If they were Greek, I 
 might make something of them, but I cannot 
 even read their names." 
 
 He turned to the low case that lined the 
 wall quite near him, and pointed to the 
 row of brown volumes on the level with his 
 eye. 
 
 " Ah ! these are my poets — Lermontof,
 
 270 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Pushkin, Derzhavin, Lomonosof," she went 
 on, touching book after book in succession as 
 she said their names. "Why is it you do 
 not know about them in England ? We read 
 your poets." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! Why do we not ? You- 
 may well ask : it seems to me we know very 
 little in England outside of the circle of our- 
 selves. Languages, for instance. Why is it 
 you know l all about us,' Madame Zophee, 
 and can talk to me in my own tongue, and 
 have got all that collection I see over there of 
 English books ? and I — I know nothing at all 
 about Russian writings, and I do not think I 
 am singular in my ignorance either." 
 
 " Ah !" she answered, laughing, " you know 
 we have all talked English in Russia ever 
 since our Vladimir the Second married the 
 daughter of your Danish Harold ; and that is 
 a good while ago, so we are pretty well at 
 home now in the language. Russians are 
 supposed to speak every civilised speech, I
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 271 
 
 imagine because their own is so difficult that 
 no one will learn it. But do you know, Sir 
 Gilbert, you really must go. Look, it is 
 positively becoming dark; indeed, please I 
 must say, ' Praschite/ farewell." 
 
 " But the key ! you have forgotten you 
 were to show me my way home." 
 
 " I had forgotten. Well, here it is. Come, 
 we will go then. I will walk with you down 
 the garden, and let you through the little 
 gate ; come. Dear me, how the evenings are 
 closing in upon us ! We shall have winter 
 immediately, and this year winter means a 
 tiresome move of my household gods for 
 me." 
 
 " Move ? Are you going away V he ex- 
 claimed as they passed out from the window 
 into the garden again. 
 
 " Only to Pau," she answered, " and quite 
 against my will. But my doctor has decreed 
 it ; this year I am to spend the winter in 
 town. "
 
 272 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Ah, really ! but will it not be pleasant ?" 
 
 " I prefer my home here, and my garden, 
 and my leafy trees, which are just the very 
 things from which he wishes to drive me. 
 He says my house is too closely surrounded 
 for the winter, too much under the hill, and 
 moreover my sitting-room is too low upon 
 the ground, so I am to be moved, and I do 
 not like it at all. How quietly ' Deena ' has 
 stood to be sure." 
 
 " Yes, she is as good as Morton thinks her, 
 which is a rare thing to be able to say of a 
 man and his horse," said Gilbert, as they 
 pushed the gate open together ; he glanced 
 back into the garden with a lingering look as 
 he untied Dinah's rein. 
 
 " Is not that Vasilie ?" he added suddenly, 
 pointing across the rose bushes to a corner 
 some distance away ; and Madame Zoph^e 
 turned also. 
 
 " Yes, that is Vasilie ; he is going to water 
 the flowers."
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 273 
 
 They watched for a moment as the man 
 moved solemnly among the gay borders, and 
 stood pouring from his green can a shower 
 upon the drooping roses and on the scarlet 
 hydrangea heads. A picturesque-looking 
 figure he was, in the deepening shadows of 
 the garden, attired in his strange costume. 
 He wore tall boots, and his loose shirt hung 
 outside his pantaloons ; he had no hat on, 
 and his big flaxen head looked tangled and 
 shaggy as a lion's mane. 
 
 " In his beloved peasant costume," said 
 Madame Zophee. " He is a thorough 'Moujik,' 
 is Yasilie, quite a type ; he firmly believes in 
 all the ' Domovoy ' — the house spirits — and 
 he will never call Pau (for which he has a 
 great contempt as a city in comparison with 
 Moscow and St. Petersburg) anything but 
 the ' Gelinka/ the little village. Come, Sir 
 Gilbert, shall I ever succeed in sending you 
 home ? Please tell Madame la Marquise it was 
 not my fault — either your coming or your 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 staying, or any consequent anxiety she may 
 have had at your non-appearance. It was 
 not my fault. Do you know that she is to 
 have a croquet-party to-morrow, and that I 
 am coming up to see B^be Beresford and the 
 Baron in combat with the dear Marquis and 
 little Jeanne ?" 
 
 " Of course I quite forgot. And you are 
 coming ? I am so glad. Well, please say I 
 have not bored you very much. I do not 
 know when / have had such a pleasant after- 
 noon," 
 
 " No," she answered doubtfully ; " I do not 
 think I have been bored. But here is your 
 gate, Sir Gilbert, so good-evening ; and pray 
 be more careful of your way another time." 
 
 A moment more, and she had locked the 
 gate again behind him, and was wandering 
 back to the chalet by the little pathway, 
 along which a tiny stream ran, fringed with 
 sedge grass and green feathery ferns. And
 
 The Princess of the Chalet. 275 
 
 he led his horse up through the beech wood 
 and the thick shrubbery below St. Hilaire, 
 treading slowly over the leaf-strewn turf 
 through the soft shadows of the autumn 
 evening, much in the frame of mind in which 
 the Prince may have been who wandered into 
 the Enchanted Palace of the White Cats, and 
 spent an evening with that immortal Princess 
 of the dear old Fairy Lands. 
 
 18-2
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 €ROQUET ON THE COTEAUX. 
 
 N the Coteaux of the Pyrenees in 
 those days we were very fond of 
 croquet. Baron Keffel, though 
 not an adept, was an enthusiast, losing his 
 temper as regularly as he lost his game. The 
 old Marquis de St. Hilaire was both enthusi- 
 astic and expert. Bebe was the " crack" 
 mallet of the club. Morton was a fair match 
 for him. Jeanne had proved an apt pupil ; 
 and Mademoiselle Lucile, Jeanne's elder 
 sister, ran Bebe* very close for the champion 
 cup.
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 277 
 
 These days are now past, we hear, and on 
 the wide sunny plain of Bilhere " the Ladies' 
 Golf-ground" is the important feature of the 
 age. The " putter " has expelled the mallet, 
 the round earth-holes supersede the hoops, 
 a princely hand dispenses prizes, and the 
 neat little white balls go skimming over the 
 turf, sent triumphantly in " drives ' and 
 " puts " by the same fair steady hand that 
 used to croquet Bebe Beresford, as he phrased 
 it, " out of all existence." Still surely the 
 Marquise de St. Hilaire gives her croquet 
 teas. 
 
 In that lovely garden — where sun and shade 
 chase one another over grass and flowers ; 
 where the view is heavenly and the air is 
 sweet — it was Madame de St. Hilaire's delight 
 to gather her favourite coterie of an after- 
 noon ; and there, a few days after her dinner- 
 party, she was seated under the broad shade 
 of a sweet-scented tree, her feet perched care- 
 fully upon a velvet stool, a white shawl
 
 278 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 thrown lightly over her shoulders, a broad 
 parasol shielding her unbonneted head and 
 her dainty cap from the wind and air. Lu and 
 Fanfan lay curled on a small rug beside her ; 
 and Gilbert, in a happy condition of dolcefar 
 niente, was stretched on the grass at her feet. 
 Lounging as only an Englishman can lounge, 
 with that curious power of voluntary resigna- 
 tion to the perfect enjoyment of utter lazi- 
 ness which generally accompanies much real 
 energy and strength. 
 
 " Play croquet ? No, not for all the world 
 on a day like this, when it is so perfectly 
 delicious to do nothing." Such had been his 
 answer to Morton's appeal to his energies and 
 to his aunt's pretended scoldings when he 
 had thrown himself down beside her, and lay 
 gazing up through the autumn leaves at that 
 wonderful sky. 
 
 Bebe had come over from Pau for the 
 afternoon, and was fixing the hoops busily on 
 the croquet-ground, while the Marquis and
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 279 
 
 Jeanne distributed mallets, and Morton and 
 Lucile discussed the sides. A Monsieur de 
 Challonier had fortunately arrived a few 
 minutes before, and accepted an invitation to 
 the game with alacrity ; so the match of six 
 could be made up, notwithstanding Gilbert's 
 disaffection. They waited only for the Baron 
 now. 
 
 Meantime the select little tea-party of the 
 Marquise arrived — the Comte and Comtesse 
 from Chateau de Beaulieu ; Monsieur and 
 Madame de Veuil, to look after their two 
 daughters, who had preceded them on foot 
 by the short cut through the valley, having 
 been fetched by Gilbert and Morton earlier in 
 the afternoon. 
 
 As the De Veuil carriage drove up to the 
 croquet-ground, two servants appeared carry- 
 ing the tea-tray, which, with some clusters of 
 beautiful fruit, some glasses of lemonade and 
 cups of iced coffee, was laid on a round rustic 
 table beneath the shadow of the broad-leaved
 
 280 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 tree by the Marquise's side. It was just at 
 one end of the croquet-ground this seat and 
 table, erected in the shade especially for her ; 
 she could watch the game from here, and she 
 did watch it, always joining eagerly in the 
 disputes that rose thick and fast as the 
 match proceeded, and siding ever with her 
 husband, who was expert but speechless, 
 against the Baron, who was voluble but 
 always in the wrong — a piece of conjugal 
 partisanship which the Baron resented most 
 bitterly, but the Marquise continued 
 stanch. 
 
 "Ha ! see there!" she would cry, " Monsieur 
 le Baron, the injustice that my poor Leon 
 would suffer did I not defend him against 
 your stratagems. Yes, he has indeed well 
 croqueted your ball. Ah, Dieu !" 
 
 But the Baron was late to-day, and they 
 still waited for him, so presently the Marquise 
 said, " As you do not begin, Leon, had you 
 not better come first and have your coifee and
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 281 
 
 tea ? See, it is here, and it will be all cold 
 long before your horrid game is done." 
 
 " A good suggestion," said Morton. " Come, 
 let us fortify ourselves for combat by an in- 
 vigorating cup. Gilbert, you lazy fellow !" 
 he called out, "if you will not play, we shall 
 at least utilise you to hand round some tea." 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life," said Gil- 
 bert dreamily. " Does anybody want some ? 
 Mademoiselle Lucile, I beg your pardon, can I 
 do anything for you V 
 
 He sat up as he spoke, and raising his hat 
 tipped it over his eyes and smiled as the whole 
 party of antagonists strolled up the croquet- 
 ground to the tea-table, and grouped them- 
 selves round the Marquise under the spreading 
 tree. 
 
 Jeanne and Lucile looked fresh and pretty 
 in soft Indian silk dresses and geranium 
 crimson ribbons, very becoming to their warm 
 bright colouring and big Spanish eyes. They 
 wore broad-brimmed sun-hats set coquettishly
 
 282 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 on their pretty heads, the wide flaps turned 
 np on one side with a bunch of wild flowers, 
 and lined with geranium silk, matching ex- 
 actly with the trimming of their dress. They 
 both obeyed presently the suggestion of Mor- 
 ton, that they should all imitate Gilbert and 
 sit down on the grass. The Comtesse and 
 Madame de Yeuil were accommodated right 
 and left of the Marquise with chairs, and sup- 
 plied with their favourite beverage of iced 
 lemonade — what Monsieur de Veuil called 
 " quelque chose de rafraichissante." He sipped 
 it complacently himself and pressed it en- 
 thusiastically upon the ladies. The Marquis 
 was becoming very hot even now before his 
 game began, so he took his wife's solicitous 
 advice and sat down quietly upon a wicker 
 chair, opened his coat-flaps very wide, fanned 
 himself gently with his straw hat, and sipped 
 a cup of warm tea, "a tisane," as he called it, 
 to prevent a chill. 
 
 And thus they were all sitting — a compla-
 
 Croquet on the Coteanx. 283 
 
 €ent picturesque party — enjoying alike the 
 heat and the shadow, the soft sense of fatigue 
 and the pleasure of repose, and sipping respec- 
 tively their tea, coffee, and lemonade ; all were 
 perfectly satisfied with the state of matters — 
 excepting Gilbert. He alone among them 
 veiled a certain restlessness beneath his pre- 
 tended indolence and ease ; he was vaguely 
 conscious that the party was still incomplete, 
 that he wanted and looked forward to some- 
 thing more, and that — neither a game of 
 croquet nor the coming of Baron Keffel. 
 
 Quite suddenly he sprang to his feet ; he 
 had been looking from under his low- tipped 
 hat for some time away beyond the croquet- 
 ground down the slope that reached into the 
 valley, towards the blue smoke curling from 
 the chimneys of the Swiss House ; and now 
 he had caught sight of some one — the Prin- 
 cess, surely, of the Enchanted Palace of the 
 day before — coming slowly over the meadow 
 at the foot of the hill and turning up the
 
 284 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 narrow pathway that led through the garden 
 to Chateau St. Hilaire. 
 
 " Ha I" he exclaimed to his aunt, " there is 
 Madame Zophee coming up the hill ; but she 
 is making straight for the house. Shall I go 
 and tell her we are all here V 
 
 " My dear boy — do. Why, she would have 
 to go all up the hill and down again, and in 
 this heat too. Catch her, there is a darling 
 child, if you can. Dear me ! I wish there 
 was a way through that great railing, 
 L^on ; we must have a wicket made just 
 there." 
 
 "Not for me, thank you," said Gilbert, 
 laughing; and in another instant he had 
 crossed the croquet-lawn, sprung lightly over 
 the railings, plunged into the thick wood, and 
 was running at top speed down the precipitous 
 bank, endangering, but just saving, his neck 
 every moment in his rapid springs over tangled 
 brushwood and long knotty roots; he came 
 in sight again, skimming over the turf to-
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 285 
 
 wards the garden-road where Madame Zoph^e 
 was slowly winding her way through the sunlit 
 meadows, long before Monsieur de Veuil had 
 shut that expressive mouth of his which had 
 sprung wide open in his surprise. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! What energy have those 
 English I" 
 
 " Ah, hah !" said the old Comte. " They do 
 make well the jump." 
 
 " Yes," said the Marquise proudly, " there 
 is not much real laziness about him." 
 
 A few minutes more and, with flushed 
 cheeks and hat in hand, Gilbert was back 
 again, walking slowly through the flower- 
 garden along the terrace by Madame ZopheVs 
 side. He brought her up to the croquet- 
 ground, and stood fanning himself violently 
 and pushing back his tumbled hair during the 
 little bustle of her reception, and then he 
 found her a shady corner, a little back from 
 the Marquise and the tea-table ; and having 
 carried her some iced coffee, and refreshed him-
 
 2S6 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 self, at Monsieur de Yeuil's entreaty, with 
 some cool lemonade, he threw himself down 
 again on the grass in her near vicinity, feeling 
 somehow this time that for the moment there 
 was nothing left in life to be desired. 
 
 " Dieu ! what a domes-tick scene 1" This 
 was the next remark that broke upon his re- 
 pose, uttered in snappish and sardonic tone 
 that induced everybody to start and turn 
 round with the certainty of seeing Baron 
 Keffel. And there he was. Standing at the 
 corner of the lawn, pausing to inspect the 
 party with an admiration of which he himself 
 was full worthy a share, being resplendent 
 this afternoon in a rural costume. He wore 
 white pantaloons, broad straw-hat, coat of a 
 huge grey check — in fact, Scotch ; and his 
 own private weapon, ebony handled and ivory 
 tipped, was flourished menacingly in one 
 hand. Combat was for the moment forgotten, 
 however, in poetic contemplation. 
 
 " What a domes- tick spectacle ! it touches
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 287 
 
 me, dear Marquise, to the very depth of my 
 heart." 
 
 "Or it would, if heart and depths were 
 not alike a mythical existence," she answered. 
 " Come here, you cynical old bachelor, and 
 tell us if you are in good humour and will 
 have a cup of tea." 
 
 " Ah !" ' he sighed, approaching her with 
 his quick uncertain footsteps and Rowing, hat 
 doffed, almost to the ground. " What do 
 we not owe to the charming queen of our 
 society, Madame la Marquise de St. Hilaire, 
 who introduces into our circles of solitude and 
 barbarity the delightful customs of England's 
 family life ?" 
 
 " Bah, nonsense !" began the Marquise. 
 
 " How touching," continued the Baron 
 pathetically. " The good papa " — indicating 
 the Marquis, who acknowledged the compli- 
 ment instantly with a bland bow ; "the beau- 
 tiful mother, who presides at the festive 
 board," he went on, waving a hand to the
 
 288 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Marquise, who, however, only responded with 
 that snappish, "Will you hold?" "And 
 then the branch, Morton, and the charming 
 fiance'e — " 
 
 "You are more insufferably ridiculous than 
 usual," interrupted the Marquise at this point; 
 "keeping everybody waiting too for the croquet- 
 match the whole afternoon. Will you sit 
 down, I say ? Will you have your tea ? or 
 shall I send the tray away and make you 
 play without it ?"' 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" he exclaimed, with very 
 real alarm, for he saw a servant approach- 
 ing across the garden at that moment, and 
 he knew Madame to be capable of revenge. 
 " I will be good then : I will take this seat 
 beside you, and be docile and obedient and 
 grateful. Ah, what a cup of tea ! Madame, 
 your fair hand has lent the subtle charm : it 
 is exquisite. Ah, Ciel, this is 'deleecious'! I 
 do call it ' deleecious'!" And like a bristling 
 old tom-cat soothed for a moment into a state
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 289 
 
 of purr, he spread his silk handkerchief over 
 his duck pantaloons, sighed complacently, and 
 sipped his tea. 
 
 " Madame Zophee," he said presently. 
 " When am I to have that promised enjoy- 
 ment of a glass of golden caravan from you ? 
 Ah, that brittle thing — a woman's promise ! 
 broken ever — ever made again/' 
 
 " No, no, not broken : only delayed," said 
 Madame Zophee. 
 
 " Chai," he went on meditatively : " the 
 golden chai, that is the bulwark of domestic 
 life in Russia, Madame la Marquise." 
 
 "Containing," put in Bebe, "perhaps a 
 little more acidity even than we infuse into our 
 domestic concoctions ; vide the lemon-juice." 
 
 " Bebe, Bebe 1" cried the Marquise and 
 Morton simultaneously. " What an exe- 
 crable effort at a pun !" 
 
 " Good for me," said Bebe philosophically. 
 " Do you know, Baron, how we really make 
 the beverage at the domestic hearth ?" 
 
 vol. i. 19
 
 290 The Sun-Maid, 
 
 " What ? no, no ! I cannot ever make it 
 at all/' said the Baron, eager for immediate 
 information ; and then Bebe sang : 
 
 " Lovely woman is the sugar, 
 Spoons we poor men always be, 
 Matrimony is hot water — 
 So we make our cup of tea." 
 
 " That is capital, capital, most capital 1" 
 roared the Baron. 
 
 But the Marquise shook her head at both 
 of them, and cried, " You naughty Bebe ! 
 I will not have you bringing your vulgar 
 little fast songs here. I wish you were 
 nearer, you wicked child, I should like to box 
 your ears." 
 
 " Ah, well," continued the Baron. " I do 
 not know, I am not all approval of the do- 
 mestic life of Great Britain. I, have, seen 
 it also myself." 
 
 fl Ah, but — " exclaimed Madame la Com- 
 tesse, bending towards her hostess. " It is
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 291 
 
 all that can be surely of what is most beau- 
 tiful, the life of the family in your land V 
 
 "My dear Comtesse," replied the Marquise, 
 " believe me there is a deal of nonsense 
 talked upon that as upon most other subjects 
 on which people have preconceived prejudices 
 and fixed ideas. English home-life is all 
 very well — God forbid I should say a word 
 to disparage it — but believe me I for one 
 have found domestic bliss is not confined 
 within the shores of Britain, and that no 
 happiness of family life can exceed that to be 
 found in many parts of France, my dear 
 Madame, and most especially on the C6teaux 
 of the Pyrenees." 
 
 " Brava !" cried the Baron. " Brava !" and 
 as for the Marquis at this juncture, he found 
 it necessary to express his feelings by laying 
 down his cup, hat, and handkerchief, and 
 stepping gallantly over to clasp and kiss 
 tenderly his wife's hand. With profound 
 courtesy, he bent before her as he murmured, 
 
 19—2
 
 292 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 " Thank you — thank you infinitely, my Violet 
 — my love." 
 
 " Well," said the Baron presently, having 
 had all the refreshment desirable for him by 
 this time, and feeling ready for a return to 
 his chronic condition of general combat. 
 " Well, as the Marquise gives the lead to me, 
 I will say the truth. For the English do- 
 mestic existence I would not give that — 
 Pouff !" and' he snapped his fingers, shrugged 
 his shoulders, and pursed out his lips with 
 indescribable expression. 
 
 " Ha, come ! I wil] not allow that !" cried 
 the Marquise. " Baron ! Baron ! order, 
 order ! my turn !" For the Baron went on 
 persistently : 
 
 " No, not that, I say, not a straw. It is 
 all Sunday rost-biff and Christmas plum- 
 pudding ; but no, not for me, it has no 
 6 distraction/ I, will, tell, you. I went once 
 to England — three times, you know, I went 
 indeed altogether — but once for this alone, to
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 293 
 
 study the chateau life, the great domestic 
 home of England. I had a friend ; I knew 
 him in Vienna. He marry, has two sons 
 and a daughter, make a home, and became 
 a family man, and I went to see him. Well ! 
 all was charming — dinner charming, even- 
 ing charming. Handsome wife, everything 
 delightful, so I think at first. But in two 
 or three days I see my friend was altered. 
 What was he ? I cannot say. Dull, stupid, 
 troubled, and his wife so, often also. There 
 was coals, and servants, and cooking," he 
 continued, checking off the national and 
 domestic trials on his fingers ; " and there was 
 company to come, or not coming, or some- 
 thing. Oh, so much ! T begin to see that 
 even with a great deal of money it was a most 
 difficult thing to live the domestic life of 
 Britain at all. It was indeed a most intricate 
 art. He was dull, my friend, cross — 
 
 " Bored, I dare say," suggested B6be. 
 
 " Well, yes ; bored — so you call it — and so
 
 294 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 did he. I say to him, 'My friend/ I say, 
 c y ou g° an d distract yourself;' and he replied, 
 * Good God, I am distracted enough already. ' 
 So I answer, ' Oh, no. Take Madame — she 
 is charming, go to town, to London, saunter a 
 little, look in the shops, smoke a cigar on the 
 boulevards or in the cafes, go in the opera, 
 buy a new dress for Madame, and you will 
 come home refreshed — perfectly distracted/ 
 And he replied finally, ' Perfectly distracted 
 I dare say. I should certainly come home 
 most infernally bored.' So I say good-bye, 
 and I come back, and I write that month in 
 the 'Review of the Strange Manners,' in 
 Berlin — I write that the life of the castle in 
 Great Britain is a very perplexing thing." 
 
 "'Review of the Strange Manners,' ex- 
 claimed Bebe, "of which you wrote, Baron, 
 doubtless some strange things !" 
 
 " I told them," said the Baron stoutly , 
 " I liked three things in England much — 
 veerry much/ 5
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 295 
 
 " And they were ?" said Bebe. 
 
 " The Tower of London, Oxford City, and 
 — the fat oxes of Lord Valsingham," replied 
 the Baron conclusively, rising as he spoke, in 
 emphatic evidence that the occasion was 
 ended, and the argument conducted to a 
 theory and a final point. 
 
 " After v that," said the Marquise, with a 
 sweetly ironical smile, as if for the moment »he 
 was utterly beneath answer or opposition 
 of any kind — " after that, will you go and play 
 your game of croquet ? a little minor accom- 
 plishment of which at least you owe, Monsieur 
 le Baron, your scientific knowledge and 
 superior skill to your prolonged and successful 
 visits to my country." 
 
 " Madame la Marquise is always charming, 
 always amiable, always complimentary," said 
 the Baron, smiling in bland acknowledgment 
 of her flattery, which he appropriated in 
 earnest and with great satisfaction to him- 
 self.
 
 29G The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Then he shouldered his mallet and broke 
 ruthlessly into the different little duets which 
 had all this time been murmured in pleasant 
 undertones by the idle croquet players in 
 various corners beneath the shady tree. One 
 and all they were roused now by him and 
 marshalled, and were soon in high combat 
 upon the field. 
 
 Not by any means the least pleasant of 
 these duets had been that one carried on 
 very sotto voce between Madame Zophee and 
 Gilbert, in a continuous running translation, 
 for his benefit, on her part, of the generally 
 eccentric language of all the past conversa- 
 tion, which had indeed rambled about back- 
 wards and forwards in a curious manner, 
 calculated to suit the understandings of all 
 parties, from broken English into voluble 
 French. Now the croquet match was fairly 
 started the Marquise joined in this tete-a-tSte, 
 while Monsieur de Veuil devoted himself 
 to preparing a fresh glass of lemonade for
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 297 
 
 the Comtesse, and the old Comte escorted 
 Madame de Veuil on a short and stately pro- 
 menade round the precincts of the flower 
 garden. 
 
 As the afternoon advanced and the feeling 
 of the approaching sunset came creeping on, 
 and the light began to glow and deepen over 
 the glorious landscape, and the shadows to 
 stretch broadly across the lawn, it was, as 
 Baron Keffel loved to say, " deleecious" to sit 
 under that spreading tree and toss the con- 
 versation ball here and there in occasional and 
 desultory remarks ; to let the eyes wander idly 
 over the changing view across valley and 
 mountain ; or to watch, for variety, with many 
 a burst of laughter and ringing merriment, 
 the party of antagonists on the croquet- 
 ground, who were all worked up into various 
 stages of violent excitement long before any- 
 body had reached the middle hoop. 
 
 Gilbert declared that croquet was a decided 
 mistake, except, as in the present instance, as
 
 298 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 a spectacle for the amusement of your inactive 
 friends. In this light he very much enjoyed 
 it, lying comfortably upon the shady grass, 
 with one hand supporting his head and the 
 other occupied in picking industriously every 
 daisy within his reach, and throwing it, for 
 his own edification and much to her annoy- 
 ance, with very dexterous aim straight at 
 Fanfan's nose, waking up that somniferous 
 little person each time with a jump and a 
 vicious bark which caused his aunt much 
 excitement and agitation. He listened in a 
 dreamy, very pleasant frame of mind the while 
 to the conversation that rippled on between 
 Madame Zophee and the Marquise, interrupt- 
 ing it only now and then as he broke into a 
 laugh or exclamation over the croquet 
 match. 
 
 The venomous expression of the Baron's 
 face was very irresistible, as he took one of 
 his wary though unsuccessful aims at an 
 enemy's ball, sending his own driving over
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 299 
 
 the ground with a vicious energy of purpose 
 deserving of a better result. His stamp of 
 fury as the ball glided rapidly forward, quite 
 six or eight inches wide of its point, was 
 delightful, and Bebe's triumphant war-dance 
 over each of these achievements did not tend 
 to tranquillise his nerves. As the game went 
 on indeed the splenetic and explosive condi- 
 tion at which the Baron arrived was some- 
 thing terrible. 
 
 " I cannot think it is good for him," said 
 Monsieur de Veuil solemnly, at one point at 
 which the Baron's agitation had quite ex- 
 ceeded all rational bounds. " It is not good, 
 it is dangerous, to agitate so much the mind, 
 with such a weather too. Madame la Mar- 
 quise, you agree with me. Entreat him I do 
 beg of you to tranquillise himself." 
 
 " Bah ! Allez f responded the Marquise. 
 " There is no fear ; be tranquil, Monsieur de 
 Veuil. He adores the emotions, I tell you he 
 does ; he loves to excite himself ! And how
 
 300 Tlie Sun-Maid. 
 
 would he do so, I ask you, in his life, without 
 a family or any cares, unless he had now and 
 then the innocent indulgence of a little rage 
 at croquet ? He would not know otherwise 
 any of the great passions or excitements of 
 this life. Leave him, he is perfectly happy ; 
 that last explosion at Bebe has done him 
 good ; he is much better now. Ah ! my good 
 Leon, that was a noble stroke !" 
 
 There was truly much pride and triumph 
 in her heart as she watched the Marquis play, 
 for he sent his spinning ball with a careful 
 dexterity that carried it surely to its mark ; 
 and as he poised his huge soft figure and took 
 his slow steady aim, the Barons outbreak of 
 impatience was always drowned in the 
 " Brava ! brava !" of the Marquise and the 
 eager applause of her fair hands. 
 
 So the afternoon waned onwards, and the 
 shadows lengthened, and the subtle chill of 
 the sunset began to creep into the air ; and 
 Madame Zophee drew her shawl suddenly
 
 Croquet on the Coteaux. 301 
 
 close round her shoulders, and said she must 
 be going home ; but the combat still waxed 
 hot and violent upon the croquet-field. 
 
 " I must see the game out, my dear," said 
 the Marquise, wrapping herself up in her soft 
 vecuna. " It is one of the chief pleasures I 
 have in life, you know, seeing my Le*on put 
 the Baron to the flight. Is that Madame de 
 Veuil's carriage ? You must wait a moment, 
 my dear Madame, for your two charmiDg 
 girls. And is the Comtesse going ? Well, a 
 thousand times au re voir, my dear friend. I 
 will not ask you to pause an instant ; the 
 evening is certainly becoming chill. And, 
 Zophe*e, must you too leave me ? Well, 
 Gilbert shall open the gate for you below 
 the garden, and so you will reach your own 
 little nest through your postern-door, dearest, 
 by the quickest way." 
 
 Madame Zophee had no time to answer 
 just then, or even to say her adieux, for sud- 
 denly Bdbe* called out, as he saw the party
 
 302 The Sim-Maid. 
 
 round the tea-table was beginning to move, 
 " Is everybody going ? Stop a minute ! 
 Madame la Marquise, I beg your pardon — 
 did I interrupt you ? Monsieur ]e Baron, I 
 see your gesticulations ; is it my turn ? Ah, 
 well ; I will not keep you waiting a moment, 
 but I have two very pleasant bits of informa- 
 tion which I must not forget to impart." 
 
 "Ah?" "So?" "What?" " How ?" accord- 
 ing to the usages of their respective lan- 
 guage, broke from each listener as Bebe" 
 paused triumphant to enjoy the eagerness of 
 his audience for an instant, until his own im- 
 patience to give information prevailed, and 
 he exclaimed, " Have you heard that the first 
 meet of the winter is fixed for this day fort- 
 night, and that Graham, the M.F.H., has 
 returned ? and that moreover, beyond this 
 delightful piece of news, there is another. 
 The season is to be opened in due form at the 
 Gassion on the Thursday following by a 
 Bachelors' ball."
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 303 
 
 " No ; is that really true ?" cried Morton. 
 " That is famous." 
 
 "Yes; quite true. A lot of us fellows 
 settled it at the club last night. Not the big 
 B. Ball, of course ; you know that must come 
 off as usual at Mid Lent — at Mi Careme ; but 
 this is to be a little throw off, just to set 
 things going." 
 
 " Ah ! on purpose I fancy," said Morton, 
 with a side glance and smile towards Jeanne, 
 " to catch me for the last time on the acting 
 committee. Hurrah ! once more. Then away 
 goes my rosette. I'll hand it on to the next 
 comer for good." 
 
 " Then are people arriving already V asked 
 the Marquise. 
 
 " Lots of them P cried B£be\ " A new 
 turn out of young ladies show up on the 
 Boulevard every day, and the club list is fast 
 filling. It is going to be a capital season, 
 Madame. Ah ! I hear vou, Baron ; I see — 
 do not agitate yourself, I entreat of you ; I
 
 304 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 am coming. There ! that was a comfortable 
 little corner you had got into, but I think I 
 have croqueted your ball." 
 
 " And now I must really go," said Madame 
 Zoph^e, rising. " Dear Marquise, adieu." 
 
 " Cherie, are you positively off? Then 
 Gilbert shall go and open the gate." 
 
 " I will walk home with Madame Zophee, 
 with her permission," said Gilbert, who had 
 sprung up instantly when she spoke of 
 leaving. 
 
 "No, no; please stay comfortably where you 
 are ; do not let me disturb you. I can open 
 the gate easily, and I think I know my way." 
 
 " But, please — I want to go," said Gilbert 
 eagerly in that downright, simple, and very 
 matter-of-fact way of his. 
 
 " But I do not require you. Really, do sit 
 down again : dear Marquise, farewell." 
 
 " But, Madame Zophe'e, stay one moment," 
 he urged. " You don't forbid me — not in 
 real earnest. May I not escort you V
 
 Croquet on the Cdteaux. 305 
 
 " I had much rather you did not. I dislike 
 particularly disturbing people on my account, 
 so you had much better stay and finish your 
 cigar." 
 
 He flung the cigar away as she answered 
 him, and stood opposite her a moment, look- 
 ing his appeal for her permission as she 'half 
 hesitated and paused. "You do not forbid 
 me r 
 
 " I think I do. Yes, I am rigorously ex- 
 clusive in the defence of my rights, and 
 beyond that door through which I let you 
 pass yesterday I like to preserve my solitary 
 and despotic reign." 
 
 " Beyond the door, yes, I dare say !" he 
 exclaimed triumphantly. " There you may 
 assert your rights, but I beg to state that 
 your tyranny is limited in its range of 
 exercise, Madame Zophee, and on this side 
 that particular barrier I deny your power. 
 You cannot forbid me walking through the 
 grounds of St. Hilaire and across my aunt's 
 
 vol. i. 20
 
 306 The Sun- Maid. 
 
 flower-garden, however unpleasant you may- 
 choose to be when we reach the boundaries of 
 your especial kingdom in our promenade." 
 
 " No more I can," she answered, laughing. 
 " Well, just to that point I suppose I must 
 submit ; on one condition, remember, Sir 
 Gilbert — that you promise to respect my right 
 of way in your tours through the country on 
 horseback in future. Come then. I must 
 really go." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 THE 
 
 TEMPLE BAR MAGAZINE. 
 
 To be obtained at every Bookseller's or Railway Station. 
 
 " Who does not welcome ' Temple Bar ?' "—John Bull. 
 "'Temple Bar' is sparkling and brilliant. It might command a con- 
 stituency by its fiction alone, but it takes so much care of its more solid matter, 
 that if there were no stories at all there is enough to interest the reader." — 
 English Independent. 
 
 Besides many others, the following Serial Stories have appeared in 
 the pages of Temple Bar : — 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN, by Wilkie Collins ; 
 RED AS A ROSE, by Miss Broughton ; 
 LADY ADELAIDE'S OATH, by Mrs. Henry Wood ; 
 LEAH : A WOMAN OF FASHION, by Mrs. Edwardes 
 UNCLE JOHN, by Whyte Melville ; 
 AURORA FLOYD, by Miss Braddon ; 
 OUGHT WE TO VISIT HER? by Mrs. Edwardes; 
 THE FROZEN DEEP, by Wilkie Collins ; 
 PATRICIA KEMBALL, by Mrs. Lynn Linton ; 
 GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART ! by Miss Broughton ; 
 A VAGABOND HEROINE, by Mrs. Edwardes ; 
 JOHN MARCHMONT'S LEGACY, by Miss Braddon ; 
 THE POISON OF ASPS, by Mrs. Ross Church ; 
 THE WOOING O'T, by Mrs. Alexander ; 
 A RACE FOR A WIFE, by Hawley Smart ; 
 ARCHIE LOVELL, by Mrs. Edwardes ; 
 
 And many other Novels and shorter Stories. 
 
 NEW NOVELS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS k ANTHONY TROLLOPE 
 
 ARE NOW APPEARING IN 
 
 The Temple Bar Magazine. 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, New Burlington St. 
 
 Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI8-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 04641 
 
 0426