man in the gray suit ... with his stomach sticking out with importance. Look; he has taken a rifle. The two on either side of the Countess are distant relations. The tall one with the grizzled beard which runs up to his tortoise-shell spectacles, has been at the château a month. The other more sallow one, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters, arrived yesterday."

"But they look as if they knew you, both of them."

"Yes. We've already spoken to one another. The bearded nobleman was even quite attentive."

Saint-Quentin made an indignant movement. She checked him at once.

"Keep calm, Saint-Quentin. And let's go closer to them. The battle begins."

The crowd was thronging round the back of the tent to watch the exploits of the owner of the château, whose skill was well known. The dozen bullets which he fired made a ring round the center of the target; and there was a burst of applause.

"No, no!" he protested modestly. "It's bad. Not a single bull's-eye."

"Want of practice," said a voice near him.

Dorothy had slipped into the front ranks of the throng; and she had said it in the quiet tone of a connoisseur. The spectators laughed. The bearded gentleman presented her to the Count and Countess.

"Mademoiselle Dorothy, the directress of the circus."

"Is it as circus directress that mademoiselle judges a target or as an expert?" said the Count jocosely.

"As an expert."

"Ah, mademoiselle also shoots?"

"Now and then."

"Jaguars?"

"No. Pipe-bowls."

"And mademoiselle does not miss her aim?"

"Never."

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