have. In a second he was off his horse and was handing her the hat. Her bow and her smile were more than a reward, for if the rose-pink divinity was alluring seen from behind, she was positively bewitching at a distance of four feet in front. What wonderful eyes! They spoke at once of everything that could stir a soldier’s soul, and her blush was the blush of Aurora.With the prettiest hesitation she inquired his name, which he only gave on condition that she should also tell hers. But this she laughingly refused. “My name is nothing,” she remarked, “for I am nobody. If you knew it you would despise yourself for having been polite to a _bourgeoise_.”

“Impossible!” André cried.

“But it is so,” she persisted, gravely, a challenge stealing from under her demure eyelashes.

“I shall find out,” André said, “I shall not rest till I find out.”

“Then inquire,” she retorted gaily, “Rue Croix des Petits Champs--perhaps you will succeed,” and without more ado she flashed him a look of defiant modesty, whipped up her ponies, and the azure phaeton vanished as rapidly as it had appeared.

André stroked his chin meditatively. What did it mean? Who was the unknown and why did she come to the woods in that enchanting guise? A _bourgeoise_! Pah! it would be well if all the women of the _bourgeoisie_ and some of the _noblesse_ possessed but one of the secrets of her irresistible womanhood. But find out he must, and André, hot on this new quest, began to trot away. He was in a rare humour now, for he had noticed with unbounded satisfaction that, while Denise had been of the royal party, that boyish Chevalier had not.

But he had not ridden far when he was amazed to discover by the roadside Yvonne of the Spotless Ankles weeping as if her heart would break.

“What is the matter?” he demanded.

“Monseigneur--ah! it is the good Monseigneur--” she fell to crying again. “They have stolen my spotted cow,” she sobbed, “robbers have stolen my spotted cow.”

“Robbers?”

“But yes, three great robbers, and they have beaten me and taken Monseigneur’s piece too. My cow, my spotted cow!”

“See, Yvonne,” he said soothingly, “I am no monseigneur, I am only a poor vicomte, but you shall have another cow, a spotted cow, too.”

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