a variegated pattern, small and subdued as that of a pavement in mosaic.  Eastward in the spacious outlook lay the hill of St. Catherine, breaking intrusively into the large level valley of the Seine; south was the river which had been the parent of the mist, and the Ile Lacroix, gorgeous in scarlet, purple, and green.  On the western horizon could be dimly discerned melancholy forests, and further to the right stood the hill and rich groves of Boisguillaume.

Ethelberta having now done looking around, the descent was begun and continued without intermission till they came to the passage behind the parapet.

Ethelberta was about to step airily forward, when there reached her ear the voices of persons below.  She recognized as one of them the slow unaccented tones of Neigh.

‘Please wait a minute!’ she said in a peremptory manner of confusion sufficient to attract Lord Mountclere’s attention.

A recollection had sprung to her mind in a moment.  She had half made an appointment with Neigh at her aunt’s hotel for this very week, and here was he in Rouen to keep it.  To meet him while indulging in this vagary with Lord Mountclere—­which, now that the mood it had been engendered by was passing off, she somewhat regretted—­would be the height of imprudence.

’I should like to go round to the other side of the parapet for a few moments,’ she said, with decisive quickness.  ’Come with me, Lord Mountclere.’

They went round to the other side.  Here she kept the viscount and their suisse until she deemed it probable that Neigh had passed by, when she returned with her companions and descended to the bottom.  They emerged into the Rue Saint-Romain, whereupon a woman called from the opposite side of the way to their guide, stating that she had told the other English gentleman that the English lady had gone into the fleche.

Ethelberta turned and looked up.  She could just discern Neigh’s form upon the steps of the fleche above, ascending toilsomely in search of her.

‘What English gentleman could that have been?’ said Lord Mountclere, after paying the man.  He spoke in a way which showed he had not overlooked her confusion.  ’It seems that he must have been searching for us, or rather for you?’

‘Only Mr. Neigh,’ said Ethelberta.  ’He told me he was coming here.  I believe he is waiting for an interview with me.’

‘H’m,’ said Lord Mountclere.

‘Business—­only business,’ said she.

‘Shall I leave you?  Perhaps the business is important—­most important.’

‘Unfortunately it is.’

’You must forgive me this once:  I cannot help—­will you give me permission to make a difficult remark?’ said Lord Mountclere, in an impatient voice.

‘With pleasure.’

‘Well, then, the business I meant was—­an engagement to be married.’

Had it been possible for a woman to be perpetually on the alert she might now have supposed that Lord Mountclere knew all about her; a mechanical deference must have restrained such an illusion had he seen her in any other light than that of a distracting slave.  But she answered quietly, ‘So did I.’