At all events, my conscience had won this time--and if the Vicomte pressed me to stay, he did so with full knowledge of the danger.
The window was open.

The Evil One prompted Lucille at that moment to break into one of those foolish little songs of Provence, and the ink dried on my pen.
[Illustration: STANDING AMID THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS, LENDING TO THEIR PINK AND WHITE BLOOM A FACE AS FRESH AS ANY OF THE FLOWERS.] The Vicomte broke the silence that followed.
"The ladies are going away for the winter months," he said.

"They are going to Draguignan, in Var.

At all events, stay with me until they return." "I cannot think why you ever took me." "An old man's fancy, mon cher.

You will not forsake me." "No.".