And all the while she lay back in her chair almost motionless, only her wonderful eyes lit up the strange whiteness of her face. There was not a touch of mauvaise honte, or explanation of the unusualness of this situation in her manner. It had a perfect, quiet dignity, as if to look into the eyes of an unknown young man at night over an ivy terrace, and then spend a day with him alone, were the most natural things in the world to do.

Paul felt she was a queen whose actions must be left unquestioned.

Presently they came to a small village, and here she would land and lunch. And from somewhere behind the cabin Dmitry appeared, and was sent on ahead, so that when they walked into the little hotel a simple repast was waiting for them.

By this time Paul was absolutely enthralled. Never in his whole life had he spent such a morning. His imagination was expanded. He saw new vistas. His brain almost whirled. Was it he—Paul Verdayne—who was seated opposite this divine woman, drinking in her voice, and listening to her subtle curious thoughts?

And what were the commonplace, ordinary things which had hitherto occupied his mind? How had he ever wasted a moment on them?

It was his first awakening.

When it came to the end—this delightful repast—he called the waiter, and wanted to pay the bill; small enough in all conscience. But a new look appeared round the lady's mouth—imperious, with an instantaneous flash in her eyes—a pure, steel-grey they were to-day.

"Leave it to Dmitry," she said quickly. "I never occupy myself with money. They displease me, these details—and why spoil my day?"

But Paul was an Englishman, and resented any woman's paying for his food. His mouth changed, too, and looked obstinate.

"I say, you know—" he began.

Then she turned upon him.

"Understand at once," she said haughtily. "Either you leave me unjarred by your English conventionalities, or you pay these miserable francs and go back to Lucerne alone!"

Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was angry, but could not insist further.

When they got outside, her voice grew caressing again as she led the way to a path up among the young beeches.

"Paul—foolish one!" she said. "Do you not think I understand and know you—and your quaint English ways? But imagine how silly it is. I am quite aware that you have ample money to provide me with a feast of Midas—all of gold—if necessary, and you shall some day, if you really wish. But to stop over paltry sums of francs, to destroy the thread of our conversation and thoughts—to make it all banal and everyday! That is what I won't have. Dmitry is there for nothing else but to éviter for me these details. It is my holiday, my pleasure-day, my time of joy. I felt young, Paul. You would not make one little shadow for me—would you, ami?"

No voice that he had ever dreamt of possessed so many tones in it as hers—even one of pathos, as she lingered over the word "shadow," All his annoyance melted. He only felt he would change the very mainspring of his life if necessary to give her pleasure and joy.

"Of course I would not make a shadow,—surely you know that," he said, moved. "Only you see a man generally pays for a woman's food."

"When she belongs to him—but I don't belong to you, baby Paul. You, for the day, belong to me—and are my guest!"

"Very well, then, we won't talk about it," he said, resigned by the caress in her words. To belong to her! That was something, if but for one day.

"Only it must never come up again, this question", she insisted. "Should we spend more hours on this lake, or other lakes—or mountains, or rivers, or towns—let us speak never of money, or paying. If you only knew of how I hate it! the cruel yellow gold! I have heaps of it—heaps of it! and for it human beings have always paid so great a price. Just this once in life let it bring happiness and peace."

He wondered at the concentrated feeling she expressed. What could the price be? And what was her history?"

"So it is over, our little breeze," she said gently, after a pause.