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been able to save one another from that | For "Perhaps we shall meet at the misfortune." Casino; who knows?" he said. "That would be one partner better than none, would it not?"

"You sent it?" she questioned, ignoring his remark. "Oh, I hope it will be all right."

"It is sure to be," he answered. "Don't be uneasy about it, or you will spoil a bit of your holiday, and you ought to enjoy every moment of it."

"So I mean to do, but I think I hope that to-night will be the best part of it." "Are you very fond of dancing?" "Very!" decidedly.

"And do you expect to have much? Do you know many people likely to be

there?"

"Not one. But I should think," she went on confidently, "that uncle must. And if he takes me, I should think he is sure to find me partners."

"It seems to me it is the very least he can do."

"Of course it would be pleasant anyhow - I mean I should like to go, if I did not know a soul in the room; but still it would be rather disappointing to go to a ball and not dance once wouldn't it?" "It would indeed; but I hope that is not likely to be the case."

She remained silent a moment, apparently reviewing the situation, and then"A Monsieur de Mornay is staying with them. His brother lives near Sérizay, so of course he will know people."

"Of course. De Mornay-let me see. I have met him in Paris, or at least seen him. A short, fat, bald man, with a very black moustache — and an eyeglass."

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It did not sound an exciting description of the cavalier upon whose kindness she was to be dependent. But Miss Vyse's thoughts flew past the personal description to the more important fact that had attracted her attention.

"Do you know him? How very odd!" the largeness, not the smallness of the world, having so far impressed itself upon her.

"I don't know that I have ever spoken to him; but if I come across him, I will try and recall myself to his remembrance." "Are you going to stay in Sérizay?" It was the first question that had passed her lips, and it come swiftly, unpremeditatedly, and was followed by a little hasty blush, that showed she felt herself to have been indiscreet.

"I am not sure." He spoke doubtfully, as if reviewing his plans; but the girl only read in the dubious answer a rebuke for her question, and blushed again. He saw it, and probably guessed its origin.

"Yes; "the blush fading, and her eyes growing glad once more. "But -" and then she paused.

"Oh, if I come, I will find De Mornay, and be presented in due form."

The momentary cloud cleared again, but the train was slackening speed, the last little station had been passed, the dew had vanished from the flowers wherewith the wayside banks were bright, the sun shone broadly down on golden corn-fields, and Sérizay was close at hand.

"This is our destination," the man said, rising and looking forth. "A quarter past eight-we are only five minutes late."

"I am hungry," Miss Vyse remarked. "Well, in a quarter of an hour you will be at breakfast. I suppose you will be met?"

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"Yes, I think so," rising and leaning out of the window; "I expect Annethat is my aunt's English maid-will be here."

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Well, you must tell her to wait one minute, whilst I see if there is an answer to your telegram. I asked Sister Josephine to send one here."

"How very good of you!" she said, drawing in her head, and turning her pretty eyes towards him.

"Suspense is too terrible to bear," he answered lightly, "if it can be avoided."

"I shall never forget," she answered, "how much I owe you for your kindness to-day. My whole holiday would have been spoilt if it had not been for you."

Then the train stopped, and "There is Anne," she exclaimed, and a moment later was by her side, pouring forth a voluble stream of chatter, chiefly anent the disasters that had befallen her in the hour and a half since she had quitted the sheltering roof of the Sacré Cœur.

"We are to wait one moment, Anne, for an answer to the telegram;" and whilst Anne was striving to grasp the story, and to understand why Miss Vyse had no ticket, a tall, dark-haired man came up to them where they stood together, letting the few passengers drift by, an envelope in his hand.

"It is all right, I hope," he said, lifting his hat, as the girl tore it open.

"Yes," she answered, becoming once more aware of his presence, "it is all right. Sister Josephine will take it her self to the train."

"That is well: and about the ticket; I

have spoken to the station-master, and all you have to do is to pay seven francs fifty centimes. Then all your troubles are over, I trust, for the day, and you are free to enjoy yourself."

With a courteous "Good morning" he turned away; but the girl made one little step to his side, and speaking quickly and impulsively, "You have been very kind," she said. "I do hope I shall see you at the ball to-night."

"I shall be there," he answered. Then the slim, girlish figure passed away into the distance, following in the wake of the other passengers, her bright brown head bent down towards her short, plump companion, as she poured forth an endless stream of question and answer.

He watched her for a moment, till a turn of the building hid her from sight, then took out the letter from his pocket he had been reading in the train, and glanced through it again.

Having read it, he tore it into fragments, and entering the telegraph office,

wrote a message:

"From Armand to Dubois. Shall stay here to-day, and go to Brussels by midnight train."

Having sent his message, he quitted the station, smiling a little as he sauntered down the narrow steeet, with its few passengers hurrying by to their marketing in the early sunshine, at the thought of the effect its reception would have upon the friend to whom he had addressed it.

But the smile had quite vanished by the time he had arrived at the entrance into the dark courtyard of the Lion d'Or, with its fat landlord on the lookout for a chance guest.

"Monsieur had ordered a room from Paris?"

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as his master entered, but did not say anything until the door was closed be. tween them and Monsieur Duval's voluble apologies.

"I will take breakfast here," Monsieur Armand then said, and the servant went away to repeat the order.

But when he came back, his master was pacing up and down the room, pausing generally by the large window which gave a glimpse of blue sparkling waters, far beyond the little town; and once when he had arrived there, without turning his head—“There is no letter for me, Jean, I suppose?" he said.

"No, monsieur," Jean replied, lifting his eyes as he spoke, and looking sadly at the tall figure. And a moment later, suddenly, as if unable to keep silence: "Monsieur stayed at Trécour last night?" "Yes," he assented. "And did monsieur — "No," he interrupted, speaking more quickly, "she would not see thought she might have written here."

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The old man only shook his head mourn. fully, whilst the younger seated himself before the breakfast now awaiting him.

"Did you go to her or write?" the servant hazarded by-and-by, as silence again fell between them.

"I sent a letter by a messenger, asking her to see me to say good-bye, telling her I was leaving France; but the only answer was a few words by the messenger, saying she could not see me; so I came on, meaning to go to Brussels this morning."

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And now?" questioned Jean.

"Now," smiling a little, "I have changed my mind. I have telegraphed to Monsieur Georges to tell him I shall leave here by the midnight train instead." "But monsieur

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“I have made up my mind,” monsieur answered shortly. "I have an engagement, but it will not take me long. We shall be able to start by the midnight train easily."

"Monsieur is not very wise," began Jean.

"Most unwise," interrupted his master; "but I am afraid it is too late to begin to be different. Get me a newspaper of the place, you understand — if they have such a thing, and paper and ink."

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half past ten being the legitimate hour for | tell you the truth, I never did do much in its closing.

The dancers in the centre, the lookerson around, all alike seemed to be enjoying themselves in a greater or less degree, and the rash attempts of the shopkeeping element to master the intricacy of the lancers the scorn of the more aristocratic parties from neighboring houses, who, in Paris toilets, and with Paris manners, had availed themselves of the amusement offered by a tolerable band, and a good floor was very entertaining to the non-combatants, safely drawn out of the reach of danger. A tall, slightly-built man, with a smooth dark head, coming into the room, by one of its many entrances, paused in the doorway, as if to take a survey. First, of the dancers; but neither the energetic bourgeois nor the aristocracy of the neighborhood seemed to interest him.

Then, to the lookers-on; rows of mothers, fathers, and other relations, all alike filled with joyful pride, till his eyes reached the party he was apparently in search of.

A stout, good-humored-looking man, a stout good humored-looking woman, and between them a girl in white, -a girl with glad grey eyes, and pretty bright brown hair.

He watched her for a moment, and then, "Pardon, monsieur," diverted his attention; and he became aware that he was lounging in the doorway, to the inconvenience of the passers in and out, apparently to the great inconvenience of a short, fat man, with an eyeglass and a very dyed moustache.

"Pardon, monsieur," he answered, drawing himself out of the way, and then looking at him with more interest. "Monsieur de Mornay?" he said, interrogatively.

"The same, sir," lifting a face that was rather pleasing, despite the obvious dye of the hair.

"You do not remember me, I dare say, but I have met you at the house of the D'Artignans."

"Assuredly," replied the other. "One grows so forgetful as one gets older. But I must not delay," fussily; "I am with a party."

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that way. But to-night I have felt really sorry I could not get through a waltz; for we have a little schoolgirl from the Sacré Cœur with us who is wild to dance. There she is," stopping short, "and if you would- just one, you know. It was so very unkind of Mademoiselle de Villeron," irrelevantly; "for I am sure her fiancé would have given her a turn, but she would not allow me to present him. So if you

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"Of course," said his listener courteously; "and it certainly seems as if Mademoiselle de Villeron had been a little unkind. But girls, you know," - smiling, "sometimes think it as well to let no temptation come in the way of a fiancé.” "It is as well to be careful," assented Monsieur de Mornay; "but still circumstances alter cases.'

"And in this case you think there was not much danger?"

"Girls of sixteen are not dangerous," asserted Monsieur de Mornay confidently. "So"-laughing heartily-"I think you may run the risk."

Then a slight tinge of color coming into his broad face-"Ten thousand pardons, monsieur; but names are treacherous things, and yours, I am sorry to say, has quite escaped me, Monsieur

"Armand," replied the other quietly. "Thank you," effusively. "Mademoi. selle," -leaning across the guardian to attract the girl's attention, "have you changed your mind? Are you still longing for a waltz? Because I have found you a partner."

At the sound of his voice the girl turned her head quickly; but before she could speak, if she had any such intention, "Monsieur Armand," went on Monsieur de Mornay, "Miss Vyse, Madame de Croye." Madame bowed pleasantly; and it was to her Monsieur Armand addressed a few polite words, whilst Miss Vyse awaited his leisure.

She no longer looked tired, which was what he had noticed when he first saw her. Her eyes were as fresh and eager now as when he had seen her at seven that morning.

There was still a little smile about her young red mouth. She was looking down towards where, below, the last figure of the lancers was being danced by several sets, all more or less inefficient; whilst the master of the ceremonies looked on, despair written in his countenance; but the gambols of the crowd for the moment scarcely interested her.

"He looks younger than I thought him | rather you can't, because you are a man, this morning; no shadow of doubt and of course have been to many, many crossing her mind as to the comparative balls?" deceptiveness of subdued gaslight and brilliant early morning sunshine. "And it is odd, but I think he is quite handsome now. Not what I admire," slowly; "a fair, curly-haired man is what I admire," with a swift glance at the dark, smooth head above; "but for a dark man he certainly is handsome."

"There, mademoiselle," he said, "that is the end of the lancers. Now for our waltz."

"A good many," he assented. "But never to one in Sérizay, so here we start on equal terms. In a few minutes we shall have to make our début. And as to your gladness at seeing me, a possible partner, — I quite believe it. I was standing in the doorway behind you, and shall I tell you what I saw?" She nodded.

"I saw a great many people dancing, and a great many more looking on, all

"Yes," she answered quickly, "do not apparently quite happy; but besides all let us lose any of it."

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these I saw a man, and a lady, and a girl in a white muslin frock; and it seemed to me that this girl looked rather disconsolate, as if she were getting tired of watching other people enjoying themselves."

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Yes," she interposed softly, "I was." "So I changed my mind, for I had meant not to come in, although ” — smiling"I had promised, and came under Monsieur de Mornay's wing to the rescue."

"It was very good of you; and, do you know," her voice falling, and speaking very quickly, "I am afraid I am rather ungrateful; for although you were so kind to me this morning, I never remembered to tell uncle about you until I got here this evening, when I hoped you would be here for one dance; and that reminded me, and I told my aunt. I only tell you," the red burning into her cheeks, "because I dare say you might think it odd of uncle not to thank you for all you did; but you will understand now that it is not his fault."

"I hope you and your uncle had many more important things to talk about."

Yes," with momentary asperity"could you believe any one could come here every summer, as Monsieur de Mor- "Yes, indeed!" Then coloring again, nay does, and not know one man to ask to "I mean we had something of great imdance a waltz? He asked that lady oppo-portance to discuss. My cousin Clemsite, do you see a lady in pink muslin? well, he asked her if her fiancé, who is with her, would. But she said no; she could not spare him. I think it was rather unkind, even if it did bore him, and, after all, I am sixteen; in another year I shall be out."

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entine, their only child, is going to be married, and I am to be bridesmaid, and there is to be a ball."

"I don't wonder you forgot me," Monsieur Armand answered. "That was a piece of news indeed. But there, the band is beginning, and, you know, we are to lose nothing of this."

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Nothing," she repeated, rising to her feet, the soft color coming into her cheeks, her gray eyes burning with excitement.

Waltzing can be raised to the level of a fine art; and with a good floor, and Strauss's softest, tenderest music sounding overhead, and such a partner as Monsieur Armand proved himself to be, Dorothy Vyse felt that her holiday would have lost its chief attraction had he failed to

present himself. He moved so quietly, so gracefully, amongst the rash, the headstrong, amidst whom he found himself sharing the honors of the Casino, that no untoward incident marred the full pleasure of the dance. And it was the girl who first paused after all.

“Tired?” he questioned.

"Oh, no," her words coming with soft little pants between; "but I am so much out of breath that we must wait for a few seconds."

“You dared me to do it, you know,” he said. "There was not to be one pause from the first bar to the last."

She smiled.

"I was afraid you would be one of those men I have been watching them this evening who just take one turn, and then stand still and talk."

"And conversation has no charm for you?"

"Oh, one can talk at any time," she answered carelessly; “but a waltz, that is another affair."

"That depends surely upon the conversation and the dancing."

"Yes, of course. But you," speaking more enthusiastically-"you dance beautifully; better than Jeanne Dupuy, and she is the best dancer in the convent."

"I am proud, mademoiselle, and feel encouraged to take another turn. Come! And you," putting his arm round her slim waist, "how do you stand as compared with Mademoiselle Jeanne Dupuy? don't think there can be much to choose between you."

"No," she answered indifferently; "we are about equal. But as we are the two best, we are not allowed to dance to gether, but we have to waltz with those who are very bad. It rather spoils the pleasure."

"Yes, I should think so." "But we get on very well together, I think; and that is a comfort, because

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Perhaps because of the distinct opinion that had been vouchsafed him on the subject, Monsieur Armand did not attempt much conversation; but the dances were not very long, and all too soon, at least in as far as Miss Vyse was concerned, the music ceased.

"Do you think madame would trust me to take you into the buffet, and give you a glass of lemonade? I believe that light refreshment is to be had."

"Oh, I should think so."

Madame, conversing with a new-comer, tall and thin-and these facts exaggerated by comparison with the party with whom he found himself - scarcely turned her head to say "Yes, yes, child-certainly." And Miss Vyse, with her hand on Monsieur Armand's arm, was led away through a narrow passage into another well lighted room, where was a table with light refreshment, in the shape of sweet cakes and syrup. Her partner procured what she wished for, and then drawing a chair up to a little table, sat down beside her.

She ate her cakes and drank her syrup and water with the most evident enjoy. ment, and after a little while volunteered a remark.

"I think I may safely say that I have never enjoyed any day in my life as much as I have done this one."

"I am very glad to hear it."

"You see," she went on explanatorily, "I have been four years in the convent, and have never been out, except to spend a few odd days at the other girls' houses in the neighborhood. It is a very monotonous life, and I have often wished for a change. Now to-day

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An expressive silence. "Has been full of change, I suppose?" "It has," she assented; "I shall never forget it."

She was still mentally passing in review "the various joys and anxieties of the day, when a tall, soldierly servant came up to her companion and said something to him rapidly, — something, of which Monsieur Armand repeated after him the last words.

"Well?" he questioned, as she stopped. "Well, you see," she went on, "we have sometimes feared, Jeanne and I, that perhaps we were not learning the most fashionable step, and that when we left Trécour we should find no one able to dance with us; but now I can tell her that it is all right. At least," stopping short, "you would tell me

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Certainly; I should think you had learned in a Paris ball-room."

"You have been there lately," she queried, "and know the fashionable step?" Yes," he assented; "I am quite a critic."

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"A letter give it to me;" then the anxious tones of his voice softened, and he looked round at the girl with a smile.

"Mademoiselle will excuse me if I read a letter and a telegram which have come for me."

He opened the envelope and glanced at the message, then put it in his pocket. "It is all right," he said to the servant. "I am going by the midnight train to

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