generally pervaded Fontainebleau with the first fine aroma of his
divine good humour.

The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the
forest trees extended across the broad white road that led them

home; the penetrating odour of the evening wood had already arisen,
like a cloud of incense, from that broad field of tree-tops; and

even in the streets of the town, where the air had been baked all
day between white walls, it came in whiffs and pulses, like a

distant music. Half-way home, the last gold flicker vanished from
a great oak upon the left; and when they came forth beyond the

borders of the wood, the plain was already sunken in pearly
greyness, and a great, pale moon came swinging skyward through the

filmy poplars.
The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke

of the woods, and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he
brightened and babbled of Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on

the glories of the political arena. All was to be changed; as the
day departed, it took with it the vestiges of an outworn existence,

and to-morrow's sun was to inaugurate the new. 'Enough,' he cried,
'of this life of maceration!' His wife (still beautiful, or he was

sadly partial) was to be no longer buried; she should now shine
before society. Jean-Marie would find the world at his feet; the

roads open to success, wealth, honour, and post-humous renown.
'And O, by the way,' said he, 'for God's sake keep your tongue

quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it is a quality I
gladly recognise in you - silence, golden silence! But this is a

matter of gravity. No word must get abroad; none but the good
Casimir is to be trusted; we shall probably dispose of the vessels

in England.'
'But are they not even ours?' the boy said, almost with a sob - it

was the only time he had spoken.
'Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else's,' replied the

Doctor. 'But the State would have some claim. If they were
stolen, for instance, we should be unable to demand their

restitution; we should have no title; we should be unable even to
communicate with the police. Such is the monstrous condition of

the law. (6) It is a mere instance of what remains to be done, of
the injustices that may yet be righted by an ardent, active, and

philosophical deputy.'
Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove

forward down the road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars,
he prayed in his teeth, and whipped up the horse to an unusual

speed. Surely, as soon as they arrived, madame would assert her
character, and bring this waking nightmare to an end.

Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most
furious barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the

treasure in the noddy. But there was no one in the street, save
three lounging landscape painters at Tentaillon's door. Jean-Marie

opened the green gate and led in the horse and carriage; and almost
at the same moment Madame Desprez came to the kitchen threshold

with a lighted lantern; for the moon was not yet high enough to
clear the garden walls.

'Close the gates, Jean-Marie!' cried the Doctor, somewhat
unsteadily alighting. 'Anastasie, where is Aline?'

'She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,' said madame.
'All is for the best!' exclaimed the Doctor fervently. 'Here,

quick, come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,' he
continued. 'Darling, we are wealthy!'

'Wealthy!' repeated the wife.
'I have found the treasure of Franchard,' replied her husband.

'See, here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my ever-
beautiful - it will suit her - trust a husband's, trust a lover's,

taste! Embrace me, darling! This grimy episode is over; the
butterfly unfolds its painted wings. To-morrow Casimir will come;

in a week we may be in Paris - happy at last! You shall have
diamonds. Jean-Marie, take it out of the boot, with religious

care, and bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We shall
have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this turtle; it

will be a whet - it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. I
myself will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that

little Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there
are still three bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion.'

'But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,' she cried. 'I do not
comprehend.'

'The turtle, my adored, the turtle!' cried the doctor; and he
pushed her towards the kitchen, lantern and all.

Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a
different scene - a more immediate protest, and his hope began to

dwindle on the spot.
The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps,

and now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long
since he had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that

the absinthe had been a misconception. Not that he regretted
excess on such a glorious day, but he made a mentalmemorandum to

beware; he must not, a second time, become the victim of a
deleterious habit. He had his wine out of the cellar in a

twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial vessels, some on the white
table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with historic

earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying Anastasie with
vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, estimating their

new wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat down to
supper, the lady's virtue had melted in the fire of his enthusiasm,

her timidity had disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak
disparagingly of the life at Gretz; and as she took her place and

helped the soup, her eyes shone with the glitter of prospective
diamonds.

All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy
plans. They bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces

ran over with smiles; their eyes scattered sparkles, as they
projected the Doctor's political honours and the lady's drawing-

room ovations.
'But you will not be a Red!' cried Anastasie.

'I am Left Centre to the core,' replied the Doctor.
'Madame Gastein will present us - we shall find ourselves

forgotten,' said the lady.
'Never,' protested the Doctor. 'Beauty and talent leave a mark.'

'I have positively forgotten how to dress,' she sighed.
'Darling, you make me blush,' cried he. 'Yours has been a tragic

marriage!'
'But your success - to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in

all the papers, that will be more than pleasure - it will be
heaven!' she cried.

'And once a week,' said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables,
'once a week - one good little game of baccarat?'

'Only once a week?' she questioned, threatening him with a finger.
'I swear it by my political honour,' cried he.

'I spoil you,' she said, and gave him her hand.
He covered it with kisses.

Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz.
He went down to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran

by with eddies of oily silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint
veils of mist moved among the poplars on the farther side. The

reeds were quietly nodding. A hundred times already had the boy
sat, on such a night, and watched the streaming river with

untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was to be the last. He was to
leave this familiar hamlet, this green, rustling country, this

bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the great city; his
dear lady mistress was to move bedizened in saloons; his good,