Yet, as I went, I had time to hear Marie's slow musical voice say: "I'm not coming at all to-day." I was very glad of it, and pursued my round of the town with a lighter heart.

Presently, after half an hour's walk, I found myself opposite the church, and thus nearly back at the hotel: and in front of the church stood Marie Delhasse, looking at _the faade_.
Raising my hat I went up to her, her friendliness of the evening before encouraging me.
"I hope you are going to stay to-day ?" said I.
"I don't know." Then she smiled, but not mirthfully.

"I expect to be very much pressed to go this afternoon," she said.
I made a shot--apparently at a venture.
"Someone will come and carry you off ?" I asked jestingly.
"It's very likely.

My presence here will be known." "But need you go ?" She looked on the ground and made no answer.
"Perhaps though," I continued, "he--or she--will not come.

He may be too much occupied." "To come for me ?" she said, with the first touch of coquetry which I had seen in her lighting up her eyes.
"Even for that, it is possible," I rejoined.
We began to walk together toward the edge of the open _place_ in front of the church.