"You're a coward," she accused herself, angrily. "Any one would think you had touched a snake. If you don't hurry up, Jeanette will be here and spoil everything. I think she's coming now," and spurred on by the sound of approaching footsteps, she reached in and drew forth a long, rolled-up, legal-looking document, tied and sealed and covered with dust.

"I know it's the will. I'm right, I'm right!" she cried, joyfully. "She is the Jeanette—but, oh, how the plot thickens——"

"What have you found?" said a soft voice behind her, and she turned to confront Jeanette, who was smiling and curious.

"Look!" said Lucile, waving the document wildly. "The door just opened—I don't know how; my elbow must have touched a spring—and this thing was in it—the opening, I mean, not the door."

"But what is it?" asked Jeanette, puzzled. "I have not the remembrance of having looked at it before."

"Then you don't know?" said Lucile, wide eyed.

The girl shook her head, eyeing the document with a puzzled expression. Gradually bewilderment changed to surprise, surprise to incredulity.

"It's the will!" she cried. "The will of Henri Charloix! Oh, it cannot be so; it can't—you say you found it in here?" she questioned, and, without waiting for an answer, plunged her hand into the opening, while Lucile drew nearer to her.

"May I look?" she asked, and the girl nodded, turning luminous eyes upon the pretty, awed face at her shoulder. "You may prove to be the best friend I have ever yet known," she said, solemnly, and drew from the secret hiding-place a very ordinary tin box, with a scrap of writing bound to it with a coarse cord.

The wording was in French, but Jeanette, translating for her benefit, read: "To be opened by my little daughter Jeanette on the event of her twenty-first birthday. Signed, EDOUARD RENARD."

"It is from my father!" cried Jeanette, sinking down, all white and trembling, upon a worn old couch and clasping the precious box to her as though she could not let it go. "Father! father!" she cried, and, bending her head upon her arms, sobbed as though her heart would break.

Lucile turned and tiptoed from the room, thinking she had intruded long enough; but a soft call from Jeanette made her pause. She seated herself on the stairs and waited.

To Lucile's tingling consciousness that short wait seemed an eternity. Her head ached with the flood of imagination that besieged it, her two hands grasped the banister to keep her rooted to the spot, while her feet tapped an impatient tattoo on the floor.

At last the longed-for summons came.

"Lucile," called a low, unsteady voice, "will you come to me?"

Would she come? Lucile flew up the winding stairs and came to a standstill before Jeanette a trifle uncertainly, not quite sure what was expected of her.

The uncertainty lasted only a moment, for, as Jeanette, shy, and dewy-eyed, held out her arms to her new-found friend, quite suddenly Lucile knew. Impulsively she threw her arms about the older girl and drew her close, whispering, softly, "Tell me all you feel you can, Jeanette; you can trust me."

"Oh, I believe that," said Jeanette, between sharp little intakes of breath. "Were I not sure of it, I could not so confide in you."

"Thank you," said Lucile, simply.

"You see," the girl continued, "when I was very young I went to live with M. Charloix, whose will this is," indicating the document.

"And M. Charloix had a son, named after him, Henri," Lucile supplemented.

The girl drew back in startled wonder, while the bright color flooded her face. "You know that—but how?" she cried.

"We sailed with M. Charloix from New York to Liverpool," Lucile explained, striving vainly to keep her voice calm and steady. "He was searching for you."

"Then you know—he has told you everything," whispered the girl, while the document in her trembling hand rattled and shook. "Was he—did he—oh, how did he look?" And she turned pleading eyes upon Lucile.

Lucile's own eyes filled suddenly and she had to choke back the tears before she could continue. "He looked very wan and sad. You see, uncertainty like that must be pretty hard to bear."

"Ah, it has not been easy for me," said the girl, softly. "It is a great thing to renounce all you hold most dear in this world—to fly for refuge to a spot like this—the long, weary nights—the waiting—the longing—oh, you cannot know!" and she burst into a passion of weeping.

"You—you're going to make me cry," said Lucile, while a tear rolled down her face and splashed upon Jeanette's bowed head.

"Ah, I am so foolish! There is no reason for tears—not now," and over the girl's tear-stained face flashed such a look of radiant joy that Lucile could only gaze, dumbfounded, at the transformation.

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

"Ah, you wonder, you are amazed—but you will not be when I have told you all. Look, this is the will—the will for which I have heard Henri is hunting. But that is not everything—oh, it is nothing! See!" and she held up the little tin box for Lucile's inspection, feverishly, eagerly. "In this is a letter from my father—my father, who died when I was so young and left me to the care of my guardian. He was good to me, but M. Charloix——" She shivered slightly. "But the letter,"—she drew it forth reverently—"ah, that changes the world for Henri and me!

"You see, when my father was very young, scarcely more than a boy, he ran away and married a girl of great beauty and intelligence, but one considered by the people among whom he moved as far beneath him in station. The rest is so old a story—his family were so cruel to him when it came to their knowledge, disinheriting him; and my father, not being accustomed to earn his own living, could not make enough to protect his sweet young wife—my mother——" Her voice broke, and Lucile squeezed the small, brown hand encouragingly.

"Ah, imagine it!" she cried. "Most often she had not enough to eat. Then, when I was only an infant, heart-broken at the suffering she thought herself to have brought upon herself and little daughter, together with so great privation itself, she died. My father followed soon after—heart-broken. Before he died, he wrote me this—ah, see how old it is—for he could not bear that I should hear of him from other lips than his."

"But you, the child?" Lucile interrupted, eagerly. "What became of you?"

"Ah, he bequeathed me to the one friend whom he had not lost—and he was good; I cannot make you understand how good!"

"But he never told you about your parents?"

"It was my father's request that he should not—and—and——" Her voice trailed off into silence. Chin in hand, she gazed unseeingly at the opposite wall.

Lucile was silent for a moment, busy patching the pieces of the story together into one connected whole. Then, leaning forward suddenly, she cried, excitedly, "Then M. Charloix deliberately made up that wicked, cruel lie that separated you and his son?"

The girl nodded. "But nothing matters now, save that it was a lie," she cried, and Lucile, looking at her, marveled.

The raucous toot of a motor horn brought both the girls to their feet with a startled exclamation.

"Oh, it is your friends," said Jeanette, running to the window. "You must go down at once. Ah, I am sorry to part with you, ma cherie," holding the younger girl from her gently and looking earnestly into the flushed, eager, face. "You have come into my life like some good fairy, bringing happiness with you."

Emotion choked the words Lucile wanted to say, but her silence was more eloquent than words and Jeanette was satisfied.

A moment later they were descending the stairs, arm in arm, and very reluctant to part.

To Lucile's surprise, Jeanette paused as they reached the lower hall and motioned her to go on.

"But I want you to meet my father and mother and the girls," Lucile protested. "You've got to give them a chance to thank you."

But Jeanette only shook her head. "I can see no one now," she whispered, tremulously. "Ah, I could not bear it!"

Lucile nodded understandingly. Then, "Monsieur Charloix?" she questioned.

"Send him to me." This last was very low.



CHAPTER XXIII

LUCILE TRIUMPHS

Lucile sped down the steps and into the waiting arms of her assembled family.

She was hugged and kissed and handed from one to the other in a very ecstasy of reunion, until Mr. Payton spoke, a trifle huskily.

"Perhaps," said he, "perhaps it would be just as well to thank the young person who handed our runaway back to us," and he glanced inquiringly in the direction of the chateau.

"No, no," said Lucile, hurriedly. "You see, it——" She hesitated; then, throwing secrecy to the winds, she pushed Jessie and Evelyn ahead of her into the automobile, crying excitedly, "I can't keep it in another minute; there's no use trying—I can't—I can't——" and, turning from her astonished friends to her no less astonished father, she said, "Dad, if you'll only get started for home, I'll tell you all about it——"

"All about what?" Jessie started to interrupt.

"I'm going to tell you, Jessie, dear, but we must get started first," and she clapped her hands impatiently while Mr. Payton gave the necessary orders and the chauffeur started the motor.

"Oh, Phil, Phil, do stop staring so!" she cried, hysterically. "I know you are going to be awfully cut up when you learn that your much-abused and misunderstood sister was right, after all."

"Lucile," cried Evelyn, in exasperation. "If you don't stop talking in riddles and get down to plain United States that everybody can understand——"

"Oh, I will," gasped Lucile. "Did any of you see anything unusual about that chateau?" she questioned. "Didn't it look—well, rather familiar to you?"

"There she goes again!" wailed Evelyn, and Jessie added, "We were too busy looking at you to notice the old house. What's that got to do with your story, anyway?"

"You'd find out if you would only have a little patience. I've a good mind not to tell you, anyway," she finished, rather childishly, for, you see, in spite of the excitement, or, more probably, because of it, Lucile was very tired and a finicky audience didn't appeal to her. She wanted to tell her story her own way.

"Go ahead, Lucy; forgive us!" said Jessie, all compunction at once. "You've made us so excited we can't wait, that's all."

"Yes, we promise not to interrupt again," added Evelyn.

"Oh, go ahead and tell your story, Lucy; cut out the sob stuff!" This from an unsympathetic brother, who should have withered next minute beneath the scathing searchlight of scorn turned his way.

Then Lucile told her story, from the minute she left the girls to the present time. During the recital they forgot more than once their promise not to interrupt, but Lucile, heart and soul in her story, never noticed them.

Mr. Payton was as much interested as the young folks, for he had entertained a sincere liking for the despondent young Frenchman.

When Lucile, flushed and breathless, finished the recital and leaned back against the cushions, the girls and Phil overwhelmed her with a flood of questions.

"So that was really the chateau old Charloix told us about. Why didn't you tell us while we were there, so we could have had a good look at the place?" Phil objected. "Let's go back, Dad," he added, eagerly. "It wouldn't take very long and it's a crime not to give the place the once over now that we have the chance."

"Oh, Phil, we can't go back now," wailed his sister. "I'm a perfect mess——"

"Of course we can't; there isn't time, anyway," said Jessie, sweeping the suggestion aside with a sang-froid that aggravated Phil. "The thing I'm most interested in now is that will and the letters her father left her. Oh, it's too wonderful!"

"And to think," said Evelyn, with shining eyes, "to think that all the time we were worrying about you and feeling sure you were lost, you were having the time of your life! Oh, if I'd only had the nerve to follow you!"

"Yes, just think of that lost opportunity," wailed Jessie. "Such a chance will never come again, never. But, Lucile, dear, do tell us what Jeanette looked like," she begged, for the fiftieth time at least.

Before she could reply, Mr. Payton said, slowly, "It is a very serious, a very delicate thing, to interfere in the lives of two people, Lucile. In this instance the end justifies the means, but it might easily have turned out otherwise. This isn't a lecture, dear," he added, patting the brown head tenderly, "simply a caution."

"I know," said Lucile, looking up understandingly into her father's kind eyes, "and I will be more careful in the future, Dad. But oh," she offered, in extenuation, "when mystery marches right up to you and begs to be looked into, what can you do? Oh, girls, if you could only have been there—if you only could!"

"Don't rub it in," cried Evelyn, clapping her hands to her ears. "You have me fairly jumping with envy now."

"Do you think you could find Henri Charloix for Jeanette, Dad?" said Lucile, turning eagerly to her father and ignoring the interruption. "You see, there's nothing to stand between them now."

"I think so," said Mr. Payton, his eyes kindling with an interest almost as great as his daughter's. "I'll spare no trouble to bring those poor harassed young people together. It's an outrage the way the French hand their children about like so much merchandise. I'll do my best little girl, now that you have started the ball rolling," he promised.

Lucile squeezed his hand gratefully, and Jessie suddenly broke out with, "Now I know why Phil hasn't seemed to take much interest in the proceedings, and why he has been studying the sky with such concentration ever since Lucile has been talking."

"Why?" cried both girls, in a single breath.

"Simply because"—she paused for dramatic effect, then flung her bomb with force at the intended victim—"he's jealous!" she hissed.

"Oh, is that so?" said Phil, drawing his gaze reluctantly from the far horizon and letting it rest dreamily on his accuser. "May I be allowed to ask what intricate and devious chain of reasoning leads you to make so unheard-of a charge?"

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Jessie, disrespectfully. "You know you're jealous, so why deny it? Seems to me I remember"—it was her turn to let her gaze wander sky-ward—"if I mistake not, that a short time ago a certain young gentleman—I mention no names, but look where I'm looking"—she threw him a mischievous glance, which he was by no means loath to intercept—"did, upon occasion, laugh and scoff——"

"Same thing," Phil interrupted.

"At his sister," Jessie continued, undaunted, "when she ventured to prophesy that which has really taken place."

"Yes. 'Paris is a very large place, you know,'" mocked Lucile.

"Take it all back, take it all back!" cried Phil, overwhelmed. "I'll admit you're the greatest sleuth outside of Sherlock, Lucy. Hands up and spare my life!"

The girls laughed with the joy of the victorious and Evelyn was about to speak, when Phil called out suddenly:

"Jack Turnbull, by all that's lucky! What brought you here?" And he fairly flung himself out of the stopping machine.

They had come upon the inn suddenly over the rise in the ground and there, standing against the pillar and nonchalantly surveying the scenery was—Lucile had to rub her eyes to be sure of unimpaired vision.

Then, the machine coming to a full stop, the two girls stepped out, while Lucile followed more slowly in their wake, conscious suddenly of dust-stained clothing and rumpled hair. "And I wanted to look my best," she wailed, in truly feminine despair.

She had not much time for lamentation, for, through the handshakings of Phil and the ecstatic demonstrations of his cousin, Jack's handsome eyes sought and found hers.

"It's a long way to come just to see you," he cried, gripping her hands tightly. "But it's sure worth it," he added, boyishly.

Lucile never had longed so for a mirror. She knew her hair was all awry, that her dress was wrinkled and covered with dust, and that her eyes must look funny from crying over Jeanette, and——

"I'm very glad to—to see you," she stammered. "If you will—excuse me just—a minute—I'll change this awful rig—and—and——" She flashed him an uncertain little smile and was gone through the broad doorway, leaving him to gaze after her, mystified and troubled.

"It's all right, Jack!" consoled Phil, with the superior knowledge of one who has a sister toward one who hasn't, and therefore knoweth not the ways of woman. "It's her clothes; but wait till she gets all dolled up; there will be a change. To talk of something else, how did you happen to strike the old inn?" and Jack, somewhat enlightened, entered upon the subject with a will, while the two girls followed in the wake of the deserter.

They found Lucile standing before the mirror, surveying herself dejectedly.

"What did you want to run away for?" charged Jessie. "Jack felt hurt, I know, even though Phil did try to explain."

"Just look at me," Lucile began, miserably.

"Well, look at you," repeated Evelyn. "What's the matter with you? Your eyes aren't red any more—the wind took that away—and your hair always looks better when it's rumpled——"

"And as for your dress," Jessie took it up, "do you think Jack would notice what you had on? He wasn't looking at that——"

"Well, how did I know I was beautiful with red eyes and wild hair and a dress that looks as if it were new in the seventeenth century?" cried Lucile, brought to bay.

"We'd have told you if you'd asked us," said Jesse, fondly.

Lucile threw an arm about each of the girls and drew them before the mirror—two fair heads with a dark one in between.

"You're great comforts, both of you. But, girls, I did think I was such a—mess!" she chuckled, happily.



CHAPTER XXIV

"TWO'S COMPANY"

Lucile was happy even before she awoke that morning. The sense of something delightful in store pervaded even her dreams. For a long time she lingered in that delightful interim between waking and sleeping, when the spirit seems to detach itself and fly on wings of golden sunshine through a dewy, scented universe. In her confused imagining she was resting on a rose-colored cloud, while all around her other clouds of varying tints swam and swirled, taking different shapes as they passed her by.

"How pretty!" she murmured, and woke with a start to find Jessie regarding her sleepily.

"What on earth were you muttering about, Lucy?" cried the latter, fretfully. "I guess you must have been having a bad dream."

"No, it wasn't; it was beautiful," she contradicted, putting her hands behind her head and gazing up at the ceiling. "I wish you hadn't waked me up; I was having an awfully good time."

"Well, I wasn't," said Jessie, so sourly that Lucile chuckled.

"You know, Jessie," she said, "the only time you are ever cross is when you are sleepy—and that's most all the time," she added, wickedly.

"What?" said the accused, sitting up in bed and seizing Lucile by the arm. "Unsay those words or I will have your life!"

"Now, you know you don't need it half as much as I do," reasoned Lucile. "You have one of your own." Whereupon Jessie laughed, and peace was almost restored when there came a knock at the door.

The girls started and looked at each other in questioning bewilderment.

"Now what have you been doing?" whispered Lucile. "I knew one of these days you would have the law upon us."

"Up to your old tricks again, I suppose," Jessie countered. "But you'd better answer them, Lucy."

"Why don't you?" said Lucile; but, receiving no answer, called out in a small voice, as the rap was repeated, "Who is it?"

"Aren't you girls ever going to get up?" whispered a gruff voice, which they, nevertheless, recognized as belonging to Phil. "It's almost eight o'clock and you said you'd be down by half-past seven. We've been waiting for half an hour."

"All right; we'll be down right away, Phil," said Lucile, jumping out of bed and beginning to dress hastily. "I had no idea it was so late."

"You know you won't have time for a walk before breakfast, even if you are down in half an hour—which I doubt," said Phil, pessimistically. "Jack and I are going for our walk, anyway."

"Run along," sang Jessie, cheerfully, "and don't hurry back."

"You just wait till I get you, Jet," he threatened—Jet being a recent nickname to which he had clung despite Jessie's vehement protestations that the name would fit a Southern mammy a good deal better than it did her, for the simple reason that a darky was jet, but she wasn't nor ever would be.

"All right; only see that you pay enough," she assented. "I'm mercenary."

"I have always suspected something in your life, woman," he hissed through the keyhole. "Farewell!" And they heard his retreating footsteps on the stairs.

The girls laughed merrily, just as Evelyn, fully dressed, emerged from the next room—they always drew lots to see who slept together—looking very sweet and dainty in her spotless white.

"Hurry up, you old slow-pokes," she greeted them, gaily. "I've been up for ever so long. It's a wonderful day."

"Oh, Evelyn, dear, you look darling in that dress! I've never seen it before!" cried Lucile, enthusiastically. "Turn around in the back. Isn't it cute, Jessie? Goodness! You make me ashamed of myself!" And she began dressing with renewed vigor.

"Will you get dressed for me, too, Evelyn?" begged Jessie. "With so much energy flying around loose, I ought to catch some of it, but I don't. Oh, for another hour's sleep!"

"You don't have to get up," said Evelyn, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You can sleep till noon if you want to, while Lucy and I have a look at the Capitol and dine at some nice little cafe——"

"Say not another word," commanded Jessie, bouncing out of bed and winding her long braids about her head. "I'd like to see anybody leave me behind. Lucy, do get out of my way—I have to have the mirror some of the time!"

Lucile laughed. "All right; I'll fix my hair in Evelyn's room, now she's through, and let you have the whole place to yourself," she said, and gathering up hairpins and ribbons, she ran into the other room to finish up.

"What are you going to wear this morning, Lucy?" asked Evelyn, from the doorway, where she could see both girls at once.

"The little flowered one, I guess," said Lucile, struggling with her hair. "I haven't worn it yet and Dad raves about it."

"I wish you would wear the blue one," Evelyn suggested. "I think it's the prettiest thing you have."

"But I've worn it so much," Lucile objected. "I don't want to be known by my dress."

With apparent irrelevance, Jessie called out from the other room, "Jack loves blue."

Instead of looking confused, as she knew was expected of her, Lucile answered, readily. "I'll wear it then, of course. Phil likes blue, too."

Evelyn and Jessie exchanged glances and the latter laughed aggravatingly.

"Evelyn, what have you done with my tan shoes?" cried Jessie, searching wildly under the bed. "I'm sure I put them in their place, and they're nowhere to be seen," and she sat back on her heels to glare menacingly about her.

"Here they are," called Lucile from the other room. "You left them here last night. Hurry up! I'm all ready now."

They were pictures of youthful loveliness as they began to descend the stairs—Evelyn, in her snowy white, looking for all the world like a plump and mischievous little cherub, and Jessie in the palest pink, which set off and enhanced her fairness. But it was to Lucile that all eyes instinctively clung. The soft curls framing the lovely, eager face; the color that came and went with each varying emotion; the instinctive grace with which she carried her proud little head, won her admiration wherever she went.

All this, and more, Jack was thinking as he watched the trio descend. He and Phil were occupying a strategic position, from which they could see but not be seen; in fact, they had left the front door slightly ajar with that very end in view.

"It seems very strange," Lucile was saying as they reached the foot of the stairs, "that we haven't heard any breakfast bell. If it's as late as the boys say it is, everybody ought to be up."

Then she flung open the door and came upon the boys, seated on the railing of the veranda, apparently engrossed in conversation. The girls gasped with amazement at sight of the boys, and the boys gasped with very genuine admiration at sight of the girls.

"Wh-what——" began Lucile, bewildered. "I thought you and Phil were going for a walk."

"So we are," said Jack, easily. "We were only waiting for you."

"Phil," Lucile turned accusingly to her brother, "this is some trick you are trying to play on us. Why isn't there any breakfast and why aren't there any people. Come on, 'fess up!"

Jessie threw up her hands wearily. "We ought to know enough to suspect him by this time," she sighed. "But I guess we'll never get over being taken in."

"By the position of the sun," quoth Evelyn, "it ought to be about six thirty."

"Just about," Lucile corroborated. "No wonder we were sleepy."

All this time the boys had been regarding the victims of their deception with an assumption of innocence, made ineffective by the suppressed laughter in their eyes.

"Now I guess we're even for all the insults you've heaped upon my unoffending head in days gone by, Jet," Phil gibed. "Routing you up at six o'clock evens up for a lifetime."

"You needn't take so much credit to yourself, brother, dear," Lucile countered. "We were going to get up, anyway, weren't we, girls," to which the girls agreed shamelessly.

"It's a compliment, anyway," said Jessie, philosophically. "They were so eager for our society that they even had to resort to tricks."

"Right you are," laughed Jack. "Now that we have some time, let's make good use of it. Come on; we'll hike," and, taking Lucile's arm, he started down the drive.

"Where to?" called Phil.

"Makes no difference to me where we go," Jack flung back, recklessly. "Let the girls decide."

"Make Lucile take the lead," Jessie suggested. "Maybe she can unearth some more mysteries."

"No, she won't; she's through," said Phil, decidedly. "If there are any more clues floating around loose, it's going to be her brother that will find them. I want that distinctly understood."

Meanwhile, Lucile and Jack had swung off into a narrow and much more difficult road than the one they were on, and Phil shouted a remonstrance.

"Why not stick to the road we know about?" he shouted, and they stopped and looked back. "That looks like a pretty stiff climb."

"We know as much about this as we do the other," Jack shouted back, "and this is lots prettier. Come on; if it gets too steep, we can always go back."

"No, I guess we'll stick to this one," Phil decided. "It looks like too much work where you are," and the trio walked on.

Lucile started to follow, but Jack laid a restraining hand on her arm. "We don't have to follow them," he pleaded. "It's so long since I've seen you, and I haven't been able to talk to you yet."

Lucile hesitated; then, "Well, just for a short distance," she conceded. "And then we can meet them on the way back."

"Thanks," he said; then added, "I thought you weren't very glad to see me yesterday. You know, I was strongly tempted to take the next steamer across the Atlantic. Haven't you thought of me at all?"

It was rather a hard question to ask, and Lucile blushed when she remembered how often she had thought of him and his letters.

"Of course," she said; "and I wrote to you——"

"Just twice," he finished. "I came very near sending you a box of writing paper—thought there must be a scarcity of it over here."

Lucile laughed her gay little laugh. "That would have been a surprise," she chuckled; then, more seriously, "But you know, there are so many people to write to, and it was awfully hard——"

"Oh, yes, I know all about it," he broke in. "Terribly busy; couldn't find time, and all that, but if you think very much of somebody, writing isn't a duty; it's a pleasure."

"But I didn't say," Lucile began; then, desperately, "Oh, please, can't we talk of something else?"

"Certainly," he agreed, and Lucile sensed the hurt in his voice. "We'll talk of anything you please. What plans have you made for the day?"

"Why, Dad said he would take us to Paris," said Lucile, instantly sorry for her little speech, yet afraid to say so. "We simply can't wait to get there! Of course you are going with us?"

"If I may. I came over with my uncle, you know, and left him in Paris to transact some important business while I hunted you up. It's a good little place—the inn, I mean—and I'm glad your father asked me to stay for the night. It's a charming spot and quite close enough to the city."

"That's what Dad thought. Then, after we have lunch at some swell little restaurant—you know——"

"Yes, I know," he agreed, laughingly. "Colored lights, and music, orchestra, and that," and he waved his hand expressively.

"Uh-huh; and after all that, he's going to drop us at the Louvre—oh, how naturally I speak of it now, and it used to seem like something on a different planet—while he tries to look up M. Charloix—he gave Dad his card on shipboard, luckily."

"And then?" he prompted, laughing eyes fixed on the lovely, animated face at his shoulder.

"Well, then," she continued eagerly, "then comes the very best of all. We're going somewhere for dinner, then the theater, then dinner again, oh-h——"

"Just one glorious day of gladness," he laughed; then, noticing her quickened breath, "We mustn't tire you too much this morning when you have such a long day before you. Suppose we rest a while."

"And here is the very place," she agreed, indicating a great, flat rock, shaded by a huge, spreading tree. "Oh, isn't the view wonderful from here? I hadn't noticed it before."

"You said it," Jack agreed, stretching his lazy length on the grass at her feet. "The hill has formed a sort of shallow precipice and the lake sure does look great down there."

For a few moments they were silent, drinking in the beauty prodigal Nature lavished all about them. Furtively Lucile examined this cavalier of hers. Straight of feature, bronzed from living in the open, eyes so full of fun you had to laugh in sympathy—oh, he was handsome; there was no doubt of that. And his hair, black and wavy and soft—Lucile was sure it was soft——

"I wish you would tell me what you are thinking about," he said, looking up with a quizzical little smile. "You were quiet so long——"

"That is unusual," she laughed, trying not to look confused. "Perhaps we had better be starting back," she added; "the others will be looking for us."

"Just as you say," he answered for the second time that morning; then, as he helped her to her feet, "I wish we could have this day together; it's been great to be alone with you even for this short time. But I forgot that that subject was unwelcome——"

"Oh, please," she begged, laying an impulsive little hand on his arm. "I—I didn't mean to be cross."

He caught the little peace-making hand in both his own, laughing down into the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

"That's the best thing I have heard to-day," he exulted.



CHAPTER XXV

THE THUNDERBOLT

Breakfast was over, and the girls had hidden their pretty evening coats under long linen dusters. For, as Mrs. Payton had explained, they would have no time to change for the evening, and they must look their best—to which, needless to say, the girls agreed with enthusiasm.

"And we can wear those new motor bonnets we bought in England the day before we sailed," Lucile rejoiced. So the insistent honk of the motor horn found them all cloaked and bonneted, and ready for the day's fun.

"Come on," cried Lucile, pulling Jessie away from the mirror by main force; "you look wonderful, Jessie," and down the stairs they ran and out onto the veranda, where a good many of the guests had assembled to see them off.

The boys took immediate possession of them and hustled them, willy-nilly, into the car, despite their vehement protestations that they must say "good-byes" to "lots of people."

"They'll be here when you get back," Phil argued, "and mother's already been waiting half an hour. Time's up!" And off they went with great noise and laughter and waving of hands to the group on the porch.

"Oh, what a perfect day!" cried Lucile, settling back between Evelyn and Jessie in the tonneau. As usual, Mr. Payton was in front with the driver, the three girls were squeezed tightly in the rear seat, Mrs. Payton occupied one of the collapsible seats, and Jack and Phil—well, they were anywhere they could get.

Jack had earlier proposed the use of his two-seater for Lucile and himself, but Mr. Payton had demurred, smilingly preferring "safety-first."

But now, the floor of the machine being not the most comfortable place in the world, Phil objected. "Say, Dad, why don't you let Jack take Lucy in his car? He's a fine driver, and he'd stick close to us all the time."

"I think it would be safe enough," Mrs. Payton added. "Mr. Turnbull says he has driven the car for years."

Mr. Payton hesitated, giving the command to slow up, nevertheless. "Well, perhaps it would be better," he agreed at last, but very reluctantly; "if you will promise to stay close to us all the time." This last to Jack.

Jack promised readily and happily, and they turned back. A few minutes later they were on their way again, everybody comfortable, everybody happy, especially Lucile and Jack.

"I didn't dare hope for this," he whispered, as they followed in the wake of the big touring car. "The hat's class!" he added, admiringly.

So the morning was spent in touring the great city. The girls were fascinated by the noise and bustle, the number and magnificence of the public buildings, and, most of all, by the gay little restaurants and cafes lining both sides of the broad boulevards.

"Imagine this at night!" said Jack, hugely enjoying Lucile's unaffected delight in everything she saw. "Can't you just see the lights spring up and the theater crowds gathering?"

"And we are going to see it all!" cried Lucile, clapping her hands and fairly dancing with delight. "Oh, Jack, I simply can't wait; I can't!"

Noon had come and passed. They had luncheon in a wonderful little restaurant near the Rue de la Paix, where they had enjoyed to the full of music and "all that," and now the two automobiles, little and big, drew up before the magnificent piece of architecture, the Louvre.

Lucile caught her breath as she and Jack joined the group already assembled on the sidewalk. "The pictures you see give you absolutely no idea of it," she breathed; "it must have been planned by an artist."

"Yes; and see how big it is," said Phil. "It's going to take us a long time to explore it."

"Explore is hardly the word——" Jessie was beginning, when Evelyn interrupted, "It doesn't make any difference what you call it, but I'm just going to look and look and look till I can't look any more."

"Well, that's what it is here for," laughed Mr. Payton; "and now I'll tell you what I am going to do with you young people. When we get you well started on your sight-seeing, Mrs. Payton and I are going to run away to hunt up this tragic hero and reinstate him and his sweetheart, if it lies within our power. We'll be back in an hour or two, and I guess there will be plenty to interest you for that length of time. So, in with you; there's no time to lose," and he propelled his laughing flock before him up the broad stone steps.

Once inside, as may be easily imagined, the girls experienced no trouble in finding things to absorb their interest, and it was hard for them to take time to say good-by to their chaperons. The latter laughingly left them to their own devices, feeling sure that they were safe for the time being, at any rate.

"Talk about spending an hour here! Why, I could spend a week in just one room!" exclaimed Jessie, after half an hour of blissful wandering. "I never saw so many things all at once in my life."

"I suppose you girls have never visited our great museums at home?" Jack questioned. "I have often felt that way myself; a person could spend a month just studying the things in one room, and still not know all he should about them."

"By home I suppose you mean New York," said Jessie; then added, demurely, "You forget, sir, that we are simple country maids, who have hardly stepped outside of Burleigh until this summer."

"Yes, I guess that's one reason why we like everything so much," said Evelyn, naively.

"Oh, the mummies, the mummies! I must see the mummies!" cried Lucile, startling the others with the suddenness of her outburst. "Oh, Jack, please take me to the mummies."

"There, there; she shall have her mummies if she wants them," said Jack, soothingly. "If they haven't enough, I'll head an expedition to Egypt for more right away, so don't worry; you shall have all you want."

"I wonder what you'd do if I took you up," laughed Lucile, as Jack hurried her off in the direction of the Egyptian section. "Egypt is a long way from here, you know."

"I came to Europe for you; Egypt isn't so much further," he teased.

A few minutes later Lucile and her friends were standing before the glass cases containing the swathed forms of some of Egypt's ancient rulers, encased in their vividly painted coffins.

They could not wonder enough at the miracle that had been wrought—the bodies of men who had ruled mighty Egypt four thousand years ago still in existence for twentieth-century moderns to marvel at! Besides the mummies, there were the numerous curiously wrought vases and utensils that had been placed in the tombs alongside the mummies for their use after death. The little party might easily have spent all their allotted time in the examination of these and other interesting relics, had not Jack hurried them away. "I realize we can't begin to see all there is to see on our first trip," he said, "but we can do our best, anyway."

They visited the art gallery, filled with marvelous paintings and sculptures; went through the room where old-time and modern musical instruments were gathered together; and so on through a very world of wonders, of which, as Evelyn plaintively remarked, "they had only time to see enough to make them want to see more." So interested were they that it was four o'clock before they realized that it was long past the time set for Mr. and Mrs. Payton's return. But suddenly this fact dawned on Phil, and he drew Lucile aside and asked her in a whisper what she supposed could be keeping them.

Lucile looked worried. "You don't think anything could have happened; an accident, perhaps?" she questioned, anxiously. "The streets were awfully crowded, you know, when we came down."

"No, I don't think there has been anything like that; probably it's taken them longer than they thought to look up that Charloix fellow," he answered, trying to be reassuring. "Any way, don't let's say anything to the rest. There's no use making everybody miserable."

So half an hour passed; then an hour; and the brother and sister could keep their anxiety to themselves no longer.

"What do you suppose can be keeping them?" Lucile wondered, as they all gathered round in anxious conference. "They surely never would have stayed away of their own accord, and it's getting really late."

"We've been here about three hours now, haven't we?" Jack added. "And they ought to have been here an hour ago at the latest. Oh, well, we can expect them any minute now."

"Suppose we go outside and see if we can find any sign of them," Evelyn suggested. "It's hot in here."

So out they went, making a very handsome group as they looked eagerly in all directions, vainly hoping to catch a glimpse of the big gray car.

"Phil, I'm terribly worried," Lucile murmured drawing closer to her brother and slipping her hand into his for comfort.

Phil squeezed the little hand reassuringly. "Half an hour from now we'll be laughing at our fears," he said, cheerfully, trying hard at the same time to convince himself.

"Seems to me there's a good deal more noise than there was, Jack. Why are all those boys running around like chickens with their heads cut off? They all have papers, too." Jessie was frankly puzzled.

"They are newsboys, little coz, and they wouldn't be flattered by our comparison. They are yelling what, in United States, would be 'extra!' I'll get a paper and see if I can puzzle out some of the French," and he strolled down to intercept one of the hurrying urchins.

Lucile watched him as he sauntered leisurely back, wondering, in her distracted little brain, how he could be interested in anything when he ought to be as anxious as she. "But it isn't his mother and father," she explained to herself.

Meanwhile, Jack's puzzled frown had turned to a look of absolute dismay and incredulity as he read.

"What is it?" Phil asked. "Everybody seems to be getting more excited and worked up every minute. Look at that group of men over there. Does the paper throw any light on the subject, Jack?"

"Well, I should say so!" cried Jack, in huge excitement. "Look here, all of you!" And while they gathered around him, expecting they knew not what calamity, he brokenly read the headlines: "Austria declares war on Servia. Open break with Russia apprehended. Germany sides with Austria——"

"War, war?" Phil echoed, dazedly. "Why, it's just as old Major B—— prophesied, only sooner. Can you read any more, Jack?"

"Oh, do, do!" urged Lucile, forgetting her anxiety in this overwhelming almost unbelievable news. "There must be more of it you can make out."

The familiar honk of an automobile horn jerked their eyes from the paper to the curb, where the big gray touring car had silently drawn up. Lucile snatched the paper none too ceremoniously from Jack's hand and flew to the machine, joyfully relieved to find her father and mother safe and sound. She was closely followed by the others.

"Mother, Dad, I'm so glad to see you're back all right; we were awfully worried!" she gasped. "But have you seen the paper? Oh, what does it mean?"

"It means," said Mr. Payton, slowly, and with grim emphasis, "it means that the sooner we leave the country behind and set foot on good old United States soil the better it will be for all of us. Come, get in."

"But, Dad, how about dinner, and the theater, and all the other things we were going to do?" Lucile wailed. "Have we got to give them all up?"

"Better to lose a little pleasure than find ourselves stranded in a country at war and perhaps be unable to leave it. We haven't any time to lose." It was the first time Lucile could remember ever hearing that tone of command in her father's voice, and somehow she knew it must be obeyed without question.

Silently, and as yet unable to comprehend the full extent of what had occurred, the party, which had started out so merrily and under such bright auspices in the morning, returned to their hotel.

Only once did Lucile shake off her preoccupation long enough to ask for M. Charloix.

"Did you find him, Dad? We thought you might have had some trouble, you were so long getting back."

"Oh, it did take more time than we expected, but it was worth the trouble when we did find him." In spite of his anxiety, Mr. Payton's eyes twinkled at the memory.

"But what did he do?" Phil broke in. "How did he take the news?"

"Running, I guess. Before I had half finished explaining to the lawyer, he was off on a dead run for the chateau. Didn't even wait to hear about the will."

"Then he doesn't know yet?" Phil cried.

"Of course he does, silly," said Lucile, with the air of one who knows all there is to know of such matters. "Don't you suppose Jeanette has told him long before this?"

Again Phil retreated gracefully. "Well, you know the lady," he admitted.

The rest of the trip passed quickly in visioning the joyful reunion of the two young lovers, and it was not till they were fairly upon the inn that the grim specter of war again intruded itself.

They found the same feverish excitement there as elsewhere, for the newspapers had arrived with the mail and the dire news spread like wildfire.

As Jack took his leave, saying that he had promised his uncle to spend the night with him, but would return the first thing in the morning, uncle and all, to accompany them home, he drew Lucile aside for a moment.

"Mighty hard luck, not seeing the lights, after all," he whispered, "but there may be other times."

"I don't know when we will ever get to Europe again, and there was so much to see yet—Switzerland, and Rome, and—and——" She struggled bravely to choke back the tears of bitter disappointment that rose to her eyes. "I—I don't see—why they had to have an old war—anyway," she sobbed.

For a moment they were alone, and very gently he took her hand in his. "Don't you worry," he soothed. "Some time, after we get home, perhaps you will come to New York, and then I'll show you Broadway. It's better than anything you can get over here, anyway! Here, I have your handkerchief," and he abstracted a filmy little square, all lace and no center, from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, and smiled uncertainly through her tears. "You must think I'm very childish and foolish—and—everything——"

"Especially the last——"

"Lucile, Lucile, Dad wants to know where you are." It was Phil's voice.

"I'm coming," called Lucile; then, turning to Jack, "Good-by," she murmured, suddenly very reluctant to have him go.

"Until to-morrow," he whispered, and was gone.



CHAPTER XXVI

THROUGH SHROUDING MISTS

To the girls, the week that followed seemed like some vivid, disjointed nightmare. They were hurried from Paris to London and from London to Liverpool, along with crowds of worried, anxious Americans, who, like themselves, were fleeing from the unexpected cataclysm.

After much difficulty, Mr. Payton finally succeeded in securing two staterooms, second cabin, while Jack and his Uncle were lucky enough to get one not very far removed from our party.

"But how are we going to manage with only two cabins for six of us; little ones at that, from your account?" Mrs. Payton protested, in dismay. "Why, the three girls and I will have to occupy one between us!"

"Can't be helped," replied Mr. Payton, and then added, with intense earnestness, "I don't believe that one of you realize yet the magnitude of this tragedy that menaces Europe. If you did, you would thank your lucky stars every minute of the day that you have the chance to leave England for our own blessed country, no matter what the cost or inconvenience. Why, within a month this whole continent will be involved in war. There are people now besieging the booking offices by the hundreds who would be glad and thankful to find room in the steerage. If we had not started when we did, we would be among them."

Lucile shivered. "Oh, Dad, it does make the thought of home seem good," she said.

Their ship was to sail at nine o'clock the following morning, and long before the appointed time the girls were up and ready for the voyage.

"What a difference!" mused Lucile, looking wistfully out upon a dreary, leaden prospect. "Even the weather seems to be in sympathy with the country's trouble."

Jessie adjusted her hat soberly and thoughtfully before she spoke. "Yes," she said, at last, "one day it's all sunshine and happiness, and the next—oh, girls, I'm absolutely miserable!"

"What good does that do?" queried Evelyn, snapping her bag shut with an air of finality. "Besides, you're only breaking one of the camp-fire's strictest laws, you know."

"Yes; that sounds all right, but it's pretty hard to be cheerful when everything's going wrong," said Jessie, pessimistically. "I don't notice that anybody looks particularly happy these days, anyway."

"That's no reason why we shouldn't be the exception," said Lucile, shaking off the weight of depression with an effort and smiling bravely. "You never know what you can do till you try."

"Miss Howland always used to say that. We'll see her and the girls soon, anyway, and that's one big consolation," said Jessie, brightening perceptibly.

"Somewhere the sun is shining," began Lucile.

"Somewhere the world is gay," added Jessie.

Evelyn flung her arms about her friends. "Somewhere the bells are chiming——"

"And that's in the U. S. A.," finished Lucile, and they went down laughing.

Mr. Payton met them at the foot of the stairs, and the frown on his anxious face turned to a smile as he heard the merry laughter.

"It does me good just to look at you," he said, sincerely.

It was their third night out. In accordance with the strict orders of the captain, there were no lights on board, for there might be hostile warcraft lurking near. So the ship stole silently as a ghost through the mists that shrouded her.

Lucile, Jack and Evelyn were leaning against the rail, talking in subdued tones, awed by the grandeur of the drama being enacted before their eyes.

"Your uncle says that people farther inland are having all sorts of trouble trying to get to the coast," said Lucile, "and now I'm beginning to realize the truth of what Dad said about being lucky to get off as we did. Oh, but the cabin is awful!" she sighed, naively.

Jack laughed understandingly. "I guess you must be rather crowded."

"Oh, but we oughtn't to mind anything now that we're out of danger," Evelyn broke in.

"Yes; but I'm not so sure we are out of danger," Jack protested. "The captain's caution seems to show that there is still something to fear."

"You mean we might be captured?" Lucile questioned, eagerly. "That would be some adventure. You might almost imagine we were living in the Middle Ages——"

"Lucile," Evelyn was starting to remonstrate, when an excited voice whispered, huskily, "So you're here, are you?" and two figures loomed before them out of the mist. "It's I, Phil," said one of them.

"We were wondering where you and Jessie had gone," Lucile began.

"Did you know we nearly ran down a hostile cruiser? At least, that's what the captain thinks it was," he interrupted, excitedly. "If we had had lights aboard, they'd have caught us sure, take it from me."

"Which reminds me," said Phil, "that Mother sent me after you girls; she says it's too damp on deck."

Reluctantly, they turned from the spacious deck to the close, stuffy atmosphere of the cabin.

Lucile paused at the top step of the companionway to look wistfully up into Jack's sober eyes. "I—I don't want to go down there," she said.

"And I don't want you to," he replied. Then, with an earnestness that left no doubt of his sincerity, "Lucile, I'd give a lot right now to have you safe on shore."



CHAPTER XXVII

HOME

The sun rose gloriously golden, dispelling the stubborn mist with an army of riotous sunbeams, that danced and shimmered over the waves in wild defiance of threatening wind and lowering sky. The decks and railings of the steamer, still wet from the clinging mist, shone and gleamed and sparkled in the sun like one gigantic diamond. Even the sailors sang as they worked, and one of them went so far as to attempt a sailor's hornpipe on the slippery deck, to the great amusement of his mates.

The girls had slept but little during the long night, and even when, from sheer exhaustion, they had dropped off into a troubled doze, weird, distorted fancies came to torment them into wakefulness, to stare, wide-eyed and fearful, into the inky blackness of the cabin.

So it was that, with the first streak of dawn, Lucile, who had been able to lie still no longer, softly rose, fearing to awake the others, and began to dress.

"I'm glad you are up, Lucy. I haven't slept all night," whispered Jessie, and the dark circles under her eyes bore unmistakable testimony to the truth of what she said. "I was afraid to get up for fear of waking Evelyn."

"You needn't have worried," and Evelyn, who had been lying with her face to the wall, turned over wearily. "I've been afraid to sleep—oh, girls, I've had such awful dreams!" And she covered her face with her hands to keep out the memory.

"We'll all feel better when we get on deck," Lucile prophesied, hopefully. "Don't let's talk so loud; Mother is asleep."

"No, I'm not," said a tired, fretful voice from the lower berth. "As soon as you girls get through, I'll get up."

It seemed to the girls that morning as though they would never finish dressing. Their clothes, their hairpins, even their combs and brushes, evaded them with demoniacal persistence, hiding under things, falling under the berths, rolling into corners, and otherwise misbehaving themselves, until the girls' nerves were all on edge and they were dangerously near the verge of tears.

It was Lucile's undying sense of humor that finally saved the day.

"I feel just like the Prince in the Prince and the Pauper, when the rat made a bed of him," she said. "Things can't be any worse, so it stands to reason they've got to get better."

"Let's hope so, anyway," said Evelyn, halfway between laughter and tears. "I feel just now as though I'd like to hit somebody."

"I guess it's time we left, then," laughed Lucile, and, suiting the action to the word, she opened the door and stepped outside, the others following.

"If I look the way I feel, I must be a sight," moaned Jessie. "I hope the boys aren't on deck."

"Girls, look!" cried Lucile, pointing dramatically to the shaft of sunlight filtering through the companionway. "The sun, the blessed old sun—it's out!"

"Wonder of wonders!" cried Jessie, as they rushed up the steep steps. "Let's go look."

The sunshine fell on them in a warm, life-giving flood. It brought out the luster in their hair; it gleamed in their eyes; it sent the warm color tingling to their faces; it made them want to sing, to dance, to shout with gladness.

"Oh to think that we were growling! To think that we dared to be down-hearted when this was waiting for us!" cried Lucile, joyfully. "We don't deserve our blessings."

"Of course you don't," said a cheerful voice behind them. "How's this for a day?"

"That's just what we've been raving about," said Jessie, as she hugged her cousin ecstatically.

"Hey, look out, young lady!" cautioned Jack, gaily. "Not everybody on board knows we're related, remember."

"Well, what they don't know won't hurt them," she retorted. "Besides, I'd hug the ship's cook to-day if he happened to be anywhere around."

"I'm flattered!" laughed Jack, just as Phil greeted him with a bang on the shoulder that Lucile declared could be heard in the galley.

"Say, let's play 'ring around a rosy,'" he suggested. "We've got to do something to celebrate."

"How exciting!" Jessie began, but before she could utter further protest she was jerked into the circle and was soon whirling round madly with the rest until they had to stop from exhaustion and laughter.

"It's good we stopped just when we did," said Lucile, peeping around a corner of the cabin. "I see old lady Banks in the distance. 'Pray, and may I inquire the cause of all this frivolity?'" and she imitated the old lady so perfectly that they went off into gales of laughter.

"You've sure missed your vocation, Lucile," said Jack, when they stopped to breathe.

"That's what we all tell her," agreed Evelyn. "In Burleigh——"

"Doesn't it make me homesick, just to think of it!" exclaimed Jessie.

"You haven't long to wait now," cried Lucile, springing to her feet and searching the sky-line as though she hoped to see beyond it. "A few hours more, and—the harbor!"

Great crowds thronged the deck of the steamer. It had been announced that fifteen minutes more would bring them in sight of land—their land. Eyes, old and young, were straining for that first glimpse of a country never so dear to them as now.

"There it is! It's there, it's there!" came in excited tones from different parts of the deck, the shrill tones of women and children mingling with the deeper voices of men.

"Yes, now you can see it," Mr. Payton was saying. "That tiny speck—that's America."

The word sped like magic through the crowd, breaking the tension. They all went mad with joy. Men shook hands with perfect strangers; women hugged each other, murmuring incoherently, and mothers gathered their little ones to them, weeping openly.

"Hello, Lucy; that you? Where did you go, anyway?" said Jessie, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "I was looking for you all over."

"Oh, just around," Lucile answered, waving her hand vaguely, "congratulating everybody. Did you ever see such a wonderful time in all your life, Jessie? One little chap over there, who is crazy to see his father, asked what the noise was all about. 'Is it because I'm going to see Daddy?' he asked, and when his mother couldn't answer him, she was crying so, he put his little face against hers and begged her not to. 'It's just because I'm happy, little lad; so happy,' she said, and—and—oh, why is it that when you're happiest, you have to go and cry?" And she dashed the tears away fiercely.

Some hours later the crowd again assembled on deck, everything in readiness to land. The beautiful city towered, majestic and imposing, before them, and the lofty buildings, with the sun full upon them, stood out clear and gleaming against the gray-blue of the sky.

The girls, who had been standing close together, drew a sigh and turned to each other with tear-wet eyes and bursting hearts.

"Well, girls, have you got any luggage?" came in Phil's matter-of-fact voice. "If you have, hand it over."

"I'll take Lucile's," said Jack, and, as she suited the action to the word, he cried joyfully, "We're home, Lucile; we're home!"

And Mr. Payton, regarding the little group with loving eyes, added, very reverently, "Thank God!"

Transcriber's Notes:

Illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph.

Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved as printed, along with the author's punctuation style, except as noted below [the correction is enclosed in brackets].

Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note.

Pg. 10: she had reigned supreme in the girl's [girls'] warm hearts

Pg. 19: had set the spring world-free.[world free.]

Pg. 21: cried Evelyn, hugging Lucile so esctatically [ecstatically]

Pg. 21: All right; wait a minute," same [came] the voice

Pg. 26: You have probably as much as any of us, and you can [can't]

Pg. 42: themselves on the floor at her feet, while other [others] were

Pg. 75: Why, its [it's] just as complete and comfortable

Pg. 84: But I trangress, [transgress,] "he interrupted himself,

Pg. 87: The chauteau [chateau] where she lived

Pg. 88: while I was still stunned and stupified [stupefied]

Pg. 90: know far too much for your piece [peace] of mind

Pg. 93: steady travel would bring Monsieur to the chauteau [chateau]

Pg. 97: reasons for our search, Monsieur,' and [said] my big friend

Pg. 98: good dinner and a bottle or two of choice Maderia [Madeira]

Pg. 98: he had made a flying visit to a little chauteau [chateau]

Pg. 117: subject always to the slightly [slightest] word or wish of

Pg. 130: "You musn't [mustn't] be too hard

Pg. 133: with its dancing eyes and mischevious [mischievous] mouth,

Pg. 149: from which the sweet notes had seem [seemed] to come.

Pg. 149: five feet away, swaying periliously [perilously] on a slender

Pg. 152: Lucille [Lucile] regarded the speaker soberly

Pg. 153: It is Jeannette [Jeanette] Renard.

Pg. 161: from one to the other in a very esctasy [ecstasy] of reunion

Pg. 162: Yes, we promse [promise] not to interrupt

Pg. 163: think you could find Henri Charloix for Jeannette [Jeanette]

Pg. 170: I'm sure I put them in ther [their] place,

Pg. 177: It doesn't make and [any] difference what you call it,

Pg. 180: I'll get a paper and see and see [removed 2nd "and see"]

Pg. 185: "Whih [Which] reminds me," said Phil,

THE END