The Chateau of Montplaisir

THE next ten days passed in a whirl of excitement for all of the people associated with the Chateau of Montplaisir. Besides the work going on at the chateau it was necessary to prepare the legal papers making Louis the nephew of Monsieur de Latour, and this gave Monsieur de Latour a valid excuse for Julie’s services. He discovered at once the importance of making copies of everything he wished in his own round, clear, clerk-like hand, for Julie’s writing was expansive and illegible beyond description, so that really Monsieur de Latour acted more as her private secretary than she did as private secretary to him. This, of course, took up much time, and Monsieur de Latour did the hardest work of his life during those ten days. He intrusted Julie, however, with the task of forwarding and receiving his letters and documents, giving emphatic orders that his copy, and not hers, of all those documents go forth to the world, while hers were to be kept merely as duplicates.

Every morning Julie would appear on the terrace, the only spot available, as the chateau swarmed with workmen. There, with her pretty head bent over the rustic table used as a writing-table, she would scribble away industriously, while Monsieur de Latour laboriously copied every word that his charming amanuensis wrote. Louis hovered around, wondering what was to be the outcome of Julie’s escapade.

One of the features of it was that on the second morning that Julie arrived on the terrace she was soon followed by the appearance of the Comtesse de Beauregard, her faithful attendant, General Granier, and Eugène de Contiac, whom the old lady kept a strict watch upon lest he should go to church or take to reading sermons. Monsieur de Latour felt highly honoured at being tracked to his lair, so to speak, by so great a lady as the Comtesse de Beauregard, and when she skipped up to him and playfully prodded him with her parasol he was very much delighted. He had invited her, it was true, to be his guest when he should be in a position to entertain her, but it was extremely gratifying to him that she should anticipate her formal visit in this manner. He greeted her warmly, and Madame de Beauregard’s first speech was:

“So you have a private secretary young enough to be your granddaughter?” And, turning to Julie, she cried: “What is your name, my dear?”

“I am Mademoiselle Julie de Courcey,” responded Julie, acting her part quite as well as Madame de Beauregard.

“Very well—I like your independence, and this afternoon, if you will come down to the promenade, we will have tea together.”

General Granier seemed to know Julie also, as did Eugène de Contiac, but Monsieur de Latour, remembering that his private secretary’s connections were high, was not surprised at this. Madame de Beauregard insisted upon being shown through the chateau, and was so pleased with it that she reminded Monsieur de Latour of his invitation to visit the chateau, saying she meant to come and bring all her family and friends and remain for several weeks as soon as the place was habitable.

“And remember, monsieur,” she continued roguishly. “I shall require at least six rooms—a bedroom, dressing-room, and saloon for myself, a bedroom for my maid, one for Eugène de Contiac, and one for my lawyer, Monsieur Bertoux, when he arrives, because I foresee that I shall soon have to change my will. Ever since my nephew here came within reach of your estimable niece he has been going to the good very fast indeed. I have reason to believe that he sneaks off to church secretly every morning, and General Granier tells me he does not think I shall ever be able to make a man of Eugène.”

Eugène at this looked very sheepish and mumbled:

“I haven’t been in bed before two o’clock a night since I came to Dinard.”

“By the way,” cried Madame de Beauregard, “I sha’n’t require a room for my niece and your ward. She is in Paris, nursing an old cousin of ours, who has been quite ill.”

“But I thought,” responded Monsieur de Latour, a little puzzled, “that you said she was in the country, and then you said she was in a convent, and a few other places.”

“And now I say she is in Paris,” tartly replied Madame de Beauregard. “My dear man, do you think that my niece, a girl brought up by me, sticks in one place like a gate-post planted in the ground? No, indeed! My niece has too much of the spirit and independence which my nephew lacks. I don’t know how in the world Providence ever came to make such a mistake as to send Julie into the world a girl, and this milksop, Eugène de Contiac, a boy. But Providence does make ridiculous blunders—there’s no doubt about that.”

Monsieur de Latour did not know whether this was heterodoxy or not, but he did know that Madame de Beauregard was a comtesse of one of the greatest families in France, and was coming to visit him, and thinking Providence could take care of itself, made no attempt to defend its acts.

“I shall be most pleased, madame,” he said gallantly, “if your niece will accompany you when you pay me the visit you promise, and I need not say that the whole chateau will be at your disposal, and in this, my nephew, I am sure, will unite with me.”

To this Louis assented politely, but in truth knew not whether to be more frightened or pleased at Madame de Beauregard’s threatened invasion of the chateau. Her presence, it was true, would give a certain protection to Julie when her escapade was found out, as it must be, but the old lady was such a persistent encourager of everything in the nature of a lark that there was no telling what would happen if she were on the spot to goad Julie on.

Madame de Beauregard then launched out into a description of her latest fad, automobiling in her sixty-horse-power motor-car, and in these adventures she had the assistance of General Granier and of a semi-royal duke as old and as kittenish as herself. She cackled with delight when she told of running into ditches, lamp-posts, shop-windows, cows, and pedestrians, and of the car turning somersaults and scattering its occupants all over the place. She wound up by inviting Monsieur de Latour to accompany her on an expedition that afternoon, with the semi-royal duke and General Granier, and she guaranteed her machine would do sixty miles the hour continuously. Monsieur de Latour turned pale at the proposition, and paler still when General Granier mentioned that in the last upset his leg, which he always carried loaded, had accidentally gone off and sent a bullet through the hat of the semi-royal duke.

“Do you mean to say,” asked Monsieur de Latour in a shocked voice, of General Granier, “that you keep that leg loaded on these expeditions?”

“Certainly,” answered General Granier, grinning, “I am practising a new feat, shooting at objects as we bowl along at sixty miles an hour.”

“But when you are upset, which seems to occur every time you go out? I should not like to have been in the duke’s place in that last accident.”

“My dear man,” gaily interrupted Madame de Beauregard, “we are not upset more than two or three times a week. And the duke did not mind having his hat spoiled. After all, you can buy a very good hat anywhere for fifteen francs.”

This view of the accident was novel to Monsieur de Latour, but the notion of appearing on the streets of Dinard in a motor-car with Madame de Beauregard and a semi-royal duke, the glorious reputation he would acquire of being a sad dog, the commotion it would make at Brionville, and, above all, the acute misery he imagined it would cause Mademoiselle Cheri, were vastly attractive to him. Madame de Beauregard, however, was not in the habit of leaving gentlemen any choice in accepting her invitations, and demanded that Monsieur de Latour should meet her at a certain place in the town that afternoon at four o’clock. She took a great deal of notice of both Louis and Julie, but did not ask them to accompany her upon the proposed motor-car expedition.

The old lady then departed with her suite. Monsieur de Latour, torn with conflicting emotions about the automobile party, was quite unequal to any work that day, and Louis volunteering to answer some routine letters for him according to general directions, Monsieur de Latour left the two at the writing-table on the terrace, where they spent most of the morning. Monsieur de Latour, wandering like an unquiet ghost about the chateau trying to make up his mind whether he should risk his neck or not in the auto-car that afternoon, noticed vaguely that Louis and Julie appeared to have a great deal to say to each other as they sat at the writing-table in the morning glow and scribbled at intervals.

When Julie took her departure for the Villa Rose shortly after one o’clock Louis went in search of Monsieur de Latour, who was found sitting in one of the deserted rooms, his head in his hands.

“My dear uncle,” asked Louis, “what is the matter?”

“I am considering,” gloomily responded Monsieur de Latour, his ears still in his hands, “whether it is worth while to risk my neck in that auto-car trip this afternoon or not. Besides the danger of being upset and of being run into, there is that terrible risk of being shot by General Granier’s leg.”

“Or drowned,” solemnly added Louis. “The last accident that Madame de Beauregard had the auto-car ran into the sea and headed for the bottom like a submarine boat.”

Monsieur de Latour groaned.

“But you must not flinch,” continued Louis sternly. “You, who aspire to the headship of the house of De Latour, afraid of being drowned or crushed or shot! The De Latours are hard to kill. Have you never heard of that distinguished ancestor of mine who determined to commit suicide because a lady had preferred the favour of the great Napoleon to himself? He swallowed a dose of poison, tied a rope around his neck, took a cocked pistol in his hand, and jumped overboard in the determination to meet death either by poison, hanging, shooting, or drowning. He swallowed so much salt water that he got rid of the poison, and, firing his pistol, cut the rope and was rescued without being in the least injured.”

“Pray Heaven his fate may be mine,” was Monsieur de Latour’s pious comment.

Louis continued urging him, and finally Monsieur de Latour screwed up his courage to the point of making an elaborate toilet and meeting his appointment with Madame de Beauregard at four o’clock. As soon as he had disappeared and might be supposed to be out of the town of Dinard, Louis sallied forth to pay a visit to the ladies at the Villa Rose.

It was not yet five o’clock when he arrived, but on being ushered into the garden, there he found Julie sitting with a piece of needlework in her hand and a look of infantile innocence on her face. Mademoiselle Cheri, who saw from her window Louis’s arrival, came down promptly into the garden; nevertheless, Louis and Julie had a delicious five minutes together, for every moment they spent alone was like paradise to both of them. Then Mélanie appeared, and Louis exerting all his powers to please, which were considerable, charmed Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie almost as much as he did Julie. They had tea merrily together, and it seemed scarcely an hour had passed since Louis’s arrival when they heard a neighbouring clock strike seven.

At the same moment Monsieur de Latour entered the garden. He was a pitiable-looking object. One side of him was all mud and the other side of him all dust, his hat was battered, his coat totally wrecked, and he limped slightly. To the anxious inquiries of the ladies he only replied shortly:

“I have been automobiling with Madame de Beauregard.”

“You have got out of it better than most people,” remarked Louis.

“Yes,” said Monsieur de Latour, “I have, on the whole, been fortunate. General Granier kept up a continual fusillade and succeeded in potting a cow and a calf. He fired over my shoulder and under my legs, and, I need not say, made me very uneasy. As for that devil of a chauffeur, I believe he did his best to upset us, egged on by Madame de Beauregard and the duke. None of them except me seemed afraid of anything—but I candidly admit that the next time Madame de Beauregard asks me to go automobiling I shall take the first train for Paris. Give me some tea, Mélanie, for Heaven’s sake, and let me go to bed and rest my nerves.” Which he proceeded to do as soon as he had disposed of his tea.

By eight o’clock he was sound asleep in bed. Just as he was comfortably tucked in he heard a tremendous commotion in front of the villa. Madame de Beauregard had come to ask him to go upon a moonlight expedition in the motor-car, but this Monsieur de Latour firmly declined to do, and for fear Madame de Beauregard should come up and drag him out of bed he locked and double-locked the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the auto-car clattering away in the distance.

For several days after the auto-car expedition Monsieur de Latour was laid up for repairs; but he was nevertheless able, though somewhat dilapidated, to get about, and especially to superintend the work being done at the Chateau of Montplaisir. He did not, however, do any more automobiling with Madame de Beauregard, although the old lady pursued him to that end in such a way that she declared she was afraid every rag of her reputation would be lost. It was in vain that she offered him the inducement of the semi-royal duke’s society and other very great people. Monsieur de Latour was firm in declining. He loved rank and high-sounding names, but he loved his own carcass better than either and refused to risk it. He made business his excuse, and required Julie’s services every day at the chateau; and Julie was always promptly on hand.

But, with the single exception of being always on the spot at the moment, Julie’s ideas of business were rudimentary. After a day or two, when replies to his letters began to come in, Monsieur de Latour discovered a peculiarity of Julie’s, which was that it seemed impossible she should write any communication without omitting at least one word. It was rarely more than one, and generally, as Julie urged in extenuation, a very little one, an “an” or a “but,” but it was always at a critical point and invariably resulted in endless confusion and misunderstandings. At first Monsieur de Latour, meaning to instruct Julie in the art of transacting the business of a private secretary, remonstrated with her kindly. Julie took these remonstrances in the most amiable manner possible, made profuse apologies and promises to reform, and repeated the mistake as soon as possible thereafter. Then Monsieur de Latour attempted to be stern, and Julie, with a sidelong glance of her beautiful eyes, explained that, much as she sought to be exact, it was impossible for her to be so because he was so interesting she was always wondering about him, whether he had been happy all his life, and if he had ever had a real love-affair, and how many women had wished to marry him. At that Monsieur de Latour’s mouth, in spite of him, came open like a rat-trap, and there was nothing more to be said.

Again he was seriously vexed. By Julie’s process he was made to declare that a pair of carriage-horses which he had sold for a high price, had not four good legs between them, and that he knew it at the time of selling. When this was traced home to Julie she laughed delightedly and cried:

“But you got the money, didn’t you, monsieur? What difference does it make about the horses’ legs?”

“It makes a great deal of difference,” replied Monsieur de Latour grimly, “whether a horse has four legs or two.”

“Then,” cried Julie, clapping her hands, “why not write and tell the person who bought the horses all about General Granier’s leg? That will amuse him, and then he will forget that the horses you sold him only had four good legs between them.”

“Mademoiselle!” roared Monsieur de Latour, now fairly roused.

But before he could say another word Julie jumped up and, blowing him a couple of kisses from her finger-tips, cried:

“There, there, don’t worry about it! You have got the money and you’ve sold two worthless horses for the price of a pair of good ones and that’s all—my time is up—come to tea at five—adieu!” And she ran off.

This was certainly very provoking, thought Monsieur de Latour, but he had been so determined on securing Julie’s presence he was loath to admit what Mademoiselle Cheri had said from the beginning, that Julie was not fitted to be a private secretary.

Meanwhile preparations for the house party went on famously, and Monsieur de Latour, who had among his other virtues a true hospitality, looked forward with pleasure to having the chateau full of guests. Louis insisted that Monsieur de Latour should play the host quite as much as himself, and Monsieur de Latour was more than willing.

He had asked Madame de Beauregard several times about his ward, Mademoiselle de Brésac, and had sent her a cordial invitation to join the party at the chateau. But Mademoiselle de Brésac appeared to be a will-o’-the-wisp—so much so that Monsieur de Latour one day remarked to Louis, as Madame de Beauregard with her party in a magnificent red devil whizzed past them on the road:

“I think there is some mystery about my ward, Mademoiselle de Brésac. I find it impossible to get from Madame de Beauregard Mademoiselle de Brésac’s actual abiding-place. One day she is in the country near here, another day she is in a convent at St. Malo, another time she is nursing an invalid cousin at Paris, yesterday she was making a visit to England, and this morning Madame de Beauregard tells me she is in Switzerland. She appears to be quite as gay as her aunt.”

“Yes,” assented Louis, “but I have reason to know that she is very charming.”

“I wish very much that she could join our party at the chateau for next week. Can you contrive to find out where she is and to secure her presence?”

“I think, possibly,” replied Louis meditatively as they walked along the sunny street, “I might do so.”

“It would be a real gratification to me, and it would add to the obligations I already owe you, for, my dear Louis, I appreciate very much your politeness to me and to my niece, and also to Mademoiselle Cheri. There are some things in our agreement which cannot be reckoned in money, and one of them is your courtesy to my family. It is evident that you are not ashamed of us.”

“Far from it,” replied Louis. “You know the pride and delight I take in you, the very flower of the De Latours, and I am more than pleased to acknowledge Mélanie as my cousin.”

It was with genuine enjoyment that Monsieur de Latour, on the tenth day after the influx of workmen in the chateau, saw the last of them depart and awaited the arrival of a house party consisting of Mademoiselle Cheri and his niece, of Julie, whom he positively declared it impossible to transact business without, and whom it was equally impossible to transact business with, of Madame de Beauregard and Eugène de Contiac. Monsieur de Latour had felt some compunction at not inviting General Granier to stay at the chateau, but although his present inclination was that Madame de Beauregard was entirely too old for him and Julie just the right age, yet he decided that General Granier, with his military air, his title as general, and his interesting wooden leg, was too dangerous a rival. As a matter of fact, General Granier had endless stories to tell of his prowess with his leg, of various kinds of game brought down, the snuffing of candles, the hitting of bull’s-eyes and all the other achievements of a crack shot. Madame de Beauregard had frankly asked, and even insisted, that General Granier should be invited, but the more she insisted the less inclined Monsieur de Latour was to bring the fascinating old general into competition with himself.

“To tell you the truth, madame,” he had said to the Comtesse de Beauregard, “I am afraid of that leg of General Granier’s. I believe it is always loaded, and is liable to go off at any time. Now, suppose we were sitting at dinner, for example, and the general should inadvertently clap his hand into his pocket and touch the trigger—what do you suppose would happen?”

“That would depend altogether upon the direction of the leg, my dear man,” replied Madame de Beauregard, who often addressed Monsieur de Latour in this familiar manner. “For my part I find General Granier’s leg far more interesting than his head, and I am not in the least afraid of either. However, I shall ask him up to tea every afternoon, and you can invite him to remain to dinner, and if you don’t I will.”

Such was the lady whom Monsieur de Latour had invited to pay him a visit. It even occurred to him that it was just as well his ward, Mademoiselle de Brésac, did not see very much of her aunt, and out of regard for her father’s memory Monsieur de Latour would have welcomed the marriage of Julie de Brésac so that he could see her in the hands of a discreet husband.

However, all these misgivings were in abeyance on the August afternoon when Monsieur de Latour, with Louis, made a final inspection of the wing of the chateau which had been made habitable. Wonders had been worked by the army of artisans. The walls and ceilings which showed age and decay most were covered, when possible, with draperies, pictures, and mirrors. The discoloured floors were concealed by costly rugs, and car-loads of furniture had been distributed among the great rooms. A large domestic staff had arrived from Brionville, and Suzette had been deposed as major-domo, cook, and house-maid. Her services, however, as valet were retained by Louis, who declared his intention of teaching her to shave him, as she already dressed him.

Suzette was delighted at the turn affairs had taken, for she had become much attached to Louis in the days of his poverty and rejoiced in his prosperity. Louis, himself, felt as if he were taking part in the adventures of Aladdin, and walked about the chateau in a dazed fashion, wondering if the gilt chairs were real or if the rugs were not an optical illusion. Daily his gratitude became more effervescent, and he implored from Monsieur de Latour the privilege of embracing him at least four instead of three times a day; this, however, Monsieur de Latour promptly refused.

“But I must embrace something,” cried Louis in the exuberance of feeling.

“Then go and try your hand on Madame de Beauregard,” replied Monsieur de Latour.

Louis misinterpreted this recommendation, and within half an hour afterward came very near being caught by Monsieur de Latour in the act of embracing Julie. For Julie was sitting in her usual place on the terrace before the writing-table, waiting for Monsieur de Latour to arrive, when Louis, stealing up to her, whispered in her ear:

“Julie, to-morrow the papers will be signed making me Monsieur de Latour’s nephew, and three hundred thousand francs will be mine, in addition to the Chateau of Montplaisir.”

Louis paused, and Julie, whose pretty eyes were downcast, raised them and giving him a bewitching glance, said:

“I care nothing for your three hundred thousand francs.”

Louis’s face grew pale, and paler still when Julie added after a moment:

“Nor for your Chateau of Montplaisir.”

And then, looking around and seeing no one in sight, she extended her hand a little toward Louis—a trifling gesture, but full of sweet meaning. Her eyes said plainly, “It is you for whom I care.” The look was illuminating.

“Mademoiselle, may I show you the orangery which has just been formed at the south end of the terrace?”

Julie rose willingly enough, and the two, walking on air, as it were, passed along the terrace to the extreme end where dozens of orange-trees in tubs made a place of sylvan beauty. When they were under the green arcade they were quite secure from observation. There was no time to think. Neither knew how it happened, but suddenly Louis’s arm was around Julie and their lips had met. And the next moment Monsieur de Latour’s jovial voice resounded at the other end of the arcade.

“Where is Mademoiselle de Courcey? I have something here very important to be copied.”

Julie scuttled back to the writing-table in less time than it takes to tell, and Louis, far less self-composed, dashed around the corner of the terrace and disappeared. Monsieur de Latour came bustling out with a telegram in his hand.

“My dear young lady,” he asked, “please answer this at once, and pray be careful. I think, so far as I know, that you have not yet written anything for me precisely as I dictated it. There is always a word or two goes wrong. But nothing must go wrong now. Here you see at the factory they are asking directions about a large quantity of soap now boiling. They want to know about adding more soda. So, write the despatch, thus.”

Monsieur de Latour gave the address and then dictated slowly and portentously:

“Now write it out for me quickly, so that I can send it off.”

Julie, who was still palpitating and blushing, and to whom the absent Louis was nearer than the present Monsieur de Latour, wrote out the despatch and handed it to Monsieur de Latour to read. He put on his spectacles and tried to make it out, but could not.

“It’s very inconvenient,” he said after a moment or two, “having a private secretary who can’t write legibly. I shall have to write this despatch myself.”

He sat down and wrote it out, and then calling a servant to Julie to send the despatch, bustled away himself to give the last orders for the entertainment of his guests. When the servant came, Julie, whose head and heart were in a whirl, absently followed her usual practice, handed him her own despatch and carefully tucked Monsieur de Latour’s away in her belt, which served her for a despatch-box, escritoire and burglar-proof safe combined, for the important papers confided to her charge.

And then Madame de Beauregard’s screeches of laughter being heard in the court-yard, Julie saw that gay old person descending from her favourite red devil, which was snorting and puffing before the main door of the chateau. She was accompanied by Eugène de Contiac, General Granier, and by an unexpected guest in the person of her lawyer, Monsieur Bertoux. He was a staid and somewhat wary-looking man, which would naturally be the case, as he lived in hot pursuit of Madame de Beauregard and was required to make almost monthly changes in the disposition of her property. Monsieur de Latour, followed by Louis, came out to greet them.

“You see, my dear man,” cried the old lady to Monsieur de Latour, who had advanced to greet her, “I have brought Monsieur Bertoux along with me. He is a very pleasant sort of person, and more interesting than he looks, as you will find out. And besides, I foresee that unless my nephew changes his course I shall be compelled not only to leave him out of my will, but to cut off his allowance. It is always the way,” continued the old lady quite angrily; “just as soon as he falls under the influence of your niece, Mélanie, Eugène forgets all the instructions I have given him to be a man, and a very larky one at that, and gets so dreadfully pious and moral there is really no standing him. And as of course he will have to see a great deal of Mélanie during this visit, I thought it just as well to have my lawyer on the spot, in case Eugène should go to extremes and insist on going to church every morning, for example. Not that I have the slightest personal objection to Mélanie—it is only her principles that I oppose, and if she will turn about and commit a few indiscretions I shall be more than willing for the match. But I don’t want any of these pious and God-fearing men in my family, and Eugène must be a man of spirit if he wants to get my money.”

And then, turning to Louis, she said laughing:

“Now, if you will engage to lead this goody-goody boy astray I will give you something handsome, because I see that you are one of the devil’s darlings, and that’s the sort I like.”

“Madame, you praise me beyond my deserts,” replied Louis, taking the old lady’s hand and kissing it gallantly. “But if you, with your fascinations and delightful example, cannot succeed in leading him astray, nobody can.”

The old lady screamed with delight at this bold declaration, which was received by Eugène in sheepish silence, and at that very moment Mélanie and Mademoiselle Cheri appeared. Madame de Beauregard had a voice like an auctioneer, and her words were plainly audible to the advancing Mélanie. Madame de Beauregard, however, with the utmost good-will greeted her and Mademoiselle Cherie.

“I dare say, my dear,” she cried to Mélanie, “you heard every word that I said, and I mean to stand by it. Either you and Eugène have got to change your principles, or you won’t get a centime of my money. While I am here I shall give you every opportunity to commit any of the delightful improprieties which you might, but won’t.”

Eugène and Mélanie presented a pitiable sight while this was going on. Both blushed and were embarrassed beyond measure. But Monsieur de Latour came to their relief by cordially welcoming Madame de Beauregard and inviting the entire party to make a tour of the renovated wing of the chateau. Marvels had certainly been accomplished, and Monsieur de Latour, anxious to justify himself for the employment of his private secretary, would say of everything, “This was the result of Mademoiselle de Courcey’s taste,” or, “I contrived to get this done through Mademoiselle de Courcey’s promptness in telegraphing my orders.”

The party at his heels listened to all of these explanations, and Madame de Beauregard cackled every time that Monsieur de Latour brought in Julie’s name, and was in a perfect ecstasy when he said, with ponderous courtesy:

“My only regret is that your niece, Mademoiselle de Brésac, is not of the party. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have entertained at the Chateau of Montplaisir, the ancestral seat of the De Latours, the daughter of the Vicomte de Brésac, who honoured me with his friendship.”

“Oh,” cried Mademoiselle Cheri innocently, “how pleased your father, the soap-boiler, would have been to see you in such grand company as this!”

Monsieur de Latour professed not to hear this speech, but listened rather to Madame de Beauregard, who was saying:

“It is a thousand pities, my dear man, that my niece is taking the mud baths at Carlsbad. You should know that girl.”

Monsieur de Latour listened to this in silence, but looked toward Louis with an expression which said plainly, “I told you so!”

Tea was served on the terrace, and, after the manner of such affairs, Julie and Louis found themselves sitting next each other, while Mélanie and Eugène, some distance apart, yet exchanged timid, longing glances. Madame de Beauregard held her court at the tea-table. Monsieur Bertoux was a very silent man, who rarely opened his mouth except to put something in it, and seemed to accept quietly his position of a rod held in terrorem over Eugène de Contiac as a punishment for good behaviour.

The purple twilight fell and a faint young moon shimmered upon the sea in which the large, palpitating stars were reflected. The daylight of late summer had gone before eight o’clock, when dinner was announced.

The dining-saloon, which a fortnight before had been a picture of gaunt neglect, was now resplendent. Shaded lamps and candles shone everywhere; pictures, mirrors, draperies covered the walls; the alleged Salvator Rosa had been removed and cast into the ash-heap. The table glittered with glass and silver, and was charmingly decorated with deep red roses, and an exquisite dinner was served. Everybody’s spirits rose, including even those of the silent Monsieur Bertoux, who foresaw that he would make half a dozen wills for Madame de Beauregard before she left the Chateau of Montplaisir.

Toward the end of the dinner the butler handed a telegram to Monsieur de Latour. By permission of the ladies he opened it, and his countenance changed at once.

“This is outrageous!” he cried. “I telegraphed to Brionville expressly that no more soda was to be added to those sixteen vats of soap, and here they send me this answer:

“I sent no such despatch, and if the people in the telegraph office sent such a one I shall claim heavy damages. That means sixteen vats of soap ruined!”

Then, excusing himself, Monsieur de Latour bustled off to the telephone, where he remained in angry colloquy with the telegraph office for ten minutes. Julie, meanwhile, seated next Louis, was quite smiling and at her ease. When Monsieur de Latour returned his brow was clouded, and as the ladies were leaving for the drawing-room where coffee was served, Monsieur de Latour politely but grimly requested Julie to remain.

“Certainly,” replied Julie gaily, “but may your nephew, Monsieur Louis, remain, too? Because you look as if you would eat me up, and I am afraid to be left with you. And, besides, you are so fascinating that people may say I am trying to marry you, so I think we must have a chaperon.”

“Just as you like, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour in the crossest tone he had ever used to a young and pretty woman.

When he was left alone in the dining-room with Julie and Louis he began in a tone of profound vexation:

“My dear young lady, when I engaged you as my private secretary I knew that you had none of the qualifications which are usually required in that capacity, but I thought you could write a simple despatch at my dictation, especially when I warned you to be very careful. Now, in everything that you have written for me you have managed to get at least one word wrong.”

“But only one word, monsieur,” answered Julie, going and sitting down in a chair and helping herself to a bunch of grapes.

“But that one word has always produced a cataclysm. Do you see the result of leaving out one word in that despatch about the soda?”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Julie, snipping off the grapes and handing some to Louis. “These are delicious grapes—I wonder if they are grown at Dinard? Yes, Monsieur de Latour, I dare say those telegraph people are right and I did leave out one word, but only one, and that such a little one.”

“It was big enough to ruin sixteen vats of soap,” tartly responded Monsieur de Latour.

He wished that Julie were not quite so pretty, and that he could keep his eyes off her pink fingers and rosy mouth as she disposed of the grapes.

“But I heard you say yourself, monsieur,” she said, snipping off some more grapes and handing them to him, “that you never used soap—you always used white sand—so what does it matter about the sixteen vats?”

Monsieur de Latour groaned. Would he ever be able to make Julie understand the first principles of business? At the same time, the thought of parting with her was not agreeable to him—he enjoyed her society too much.

“Very well, mademoiselle,” he said, trying to be stern. “All I have to say is that you must be more careful in the future. The notary will be here to-morrow, bringing the papers arranging matters between my nephew and myself, and, luckily, he will no doubt correct any blunders which you may have made in the copy which I dictated to you.”

“I haven’t made any blunders,” cried Julie, laughing. “I wrote exactly what you dictated, and if there are any blunders they will be the notary’s. Come, now, if you are through scolding me, let us go and have coffee with the rest.”

Monsieur de Latour had meant to give her a tremendous wigging, but instead of that he found himself led, ostensibly by the arm and secretly by the nose, into the drawing-room, with Julie on his arm and Louis bringing up the rear.

As they entered the drawing-room, Julie joyfully proclaimed:

“Dear people, I have made the most amusing mistake this time. I have ruined sixteen vats of soap for Monsieur de Latour, and he, poor darling, takes it like an angel. But I won’t do so any more, I promise you, monsieur.”

“No, you won’t, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour. “I sha’n’t give you the chance.”

And then, like the hospitable host he was, he proceeded to forget all about the sixteen vats of ruined soap, and they had a merry evening together, enlivened by Julie’s songs at the piano.