name, Madame," he said, finally, "I regret to say."

"Thank you, Monsieur; that is all."

For the rest of the day his Excellency the governor went about with a
preoccupied expression on his face.


The sun sank; the green of the forests deepened; a violet mist rose
from the banks; the channel of the river became a perfect mirror, which
softened the gorgeous colors which the heavens flung upon its surface.
Madame wandered aimlessly around within the outer parapet of the
citadel. Far out upon the river she saw the black hull of the Henri
IV, the rigging weaving a delicate spider-web against the faded horizon
of the south. A breeze touched madame's cheek, as soft a kiss as that
which a mother gives to her sleeping child. For a space her hair
burned like ore in a furnace and her eyes sparkled with golden flashes;
then the day smoldered and died, leaving the world enveloped in a
silvery pallor. To the thought which wanders visual beauty is without
significance, and madame's thought was traversing paths which were many
miles beyond the sea.

"Madame, are you not truly a poet?"

The vicomte stood at her side, his hat under his arm. "I daresay," he
went on, "that many a night while you were crossing the sea you stood
by the railing and watched the pathway of the moon. How like destiny
it was! You could not pass that ribbon of moonshine nor could it pass
you, but ever and ever it walked and abided with you. Well, so it is
with destiny."