CHAPTER VIII.
Heronac was basking in the sun of an August morning, like some huge sea monster which had clambered upon the wet rocks.
The sea was intensely blue without a ripple upon it, and only the smallest white line marked where its waters caressed the shore.
Nature slumbered in the heat and was silent, and Sabine Howard, the chatelaine of this quaint chateau, stood looking out of the deep windows in her great sitting-room.

It was a wonderful room.

She had collected dark panelling and tapestry to hide the grim stone walls, and had managed to buy a splendidly carved and painted roof, while her sense of color had run riot in beautiful silks for curtains.

It was a remarkable achievement for one so young, and who had begun so ignorantly.

Her mother's family had been decently enough bred, and her maternal grandfather had been a fair artist, and that remarkable American adaptability which she had inherited from her father had helped her in many ways.