almost to forget a lady who has shown him favor. If he can quite forget her—and will be so unromantic—why, let him, and perhaps small harm done. But almost——That leaves him at the mercy of every generous self-reproach. He is ready to do anything to prove that she was every second in his memory.
I began to retrace my steps toward the château.
“I shall get the sack over this!” called Jean.
“You shall come to no harm by that, if you do,” I assured him.
But hardly had I—my virtuous pride now completely smothered by my tender remorse—started on my ill-considered return journey, when, just as had happened to Gustave de Berensac and myself the evening before, a slim figure ran down from the bank by the roadside. It was the duchess. The short cut had served her. She was hardly out of breath this time; and she appeared composed and in good spirits.
“I thought for a moment you’d forgotten me, but I knew you wouldn’t do that, Mr. Aycon.”
Could I resist such trust?
“Forget you, madame?” I cried. “I would as soon forget——”
“So I knew you’d wait for me.”
“Here I am, waiting faithfully,” said I.
“That’s right,” said the duchess. “Take this, please, Mr. Aycon.”
“This” was a small handbag. She gave it to me, and began to walk toward the cart,
