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Updated: October 15, 2025
He sprang up, caught me by the arm, and cried in a ringing voice: "Babache, I am the happiest man alive. But come out of doors. This room stifles me. I want to look at the stars like Francezka's eyes. I wish to breathe the perfumed air of the garden, because all beauty all perfume is like her."
The blood of the Kirkpatricks was rising in Francezka's veins; the air suddenly seemed full of electricity. I saw her involuntarily place her hand upon the inkstand, a heavy, bronze one, lying on the table, and I thought the chance was that she would throw it in Jacques Haret's face. To save her from so wild an act was my only thought.
But these glowing visions did not impair Francezka's watchfulness nor lead her to relax one single effort in her vigilant hunt. This rosy hope lasted her until we reached Prince Eugene's headquarters in the Taunus hills. There, one interview with Prince Eugene himself brought home to Francezka the gray and gloomy outlook before her.
Toward three o'clock I saw a solitary figure a woman ride across the bridge. No one else had returned, nor was the hunting party expected until sunset. I recognized Francezka's form and surmised that, fatigued with all she had undergone, she had slipped away from the hunting party and had returned to the castle to rest.
I reached over, and getting a good grip on Jacques Haret, which I could do easily, as he was entirely off his guard, I flung him headlong through the open door into the garden below. Then, not wishing Francezka's identity to be revealed, I motioned to her and Madame Villars, and we hurried out of the room.
He remained willingly in Francezka's sweet company, being ever a dog of the soundest discernment. I feel no jealousy; Francezka is welcome to my dog, as she is to me." I could not make out what Gaston's footing was with Francezka, but that he was assured of her love I no longer doubted. Well, this was as it should be.
It was served in the little yellow saloon, which was a favorite one of Francezka's father, and was likely to be favored by her, too. It was a merry supper table, with white waxlights and red firelight shining on it, and we had the wine of the gods. The Scotch gentleman had provided his cellars with vintages worth the housing.
He, the most absurd creature alive, who had believed for years that this glorious creature was his for the asking, had come to the château of Capello that May afternoon, and had made Francezka a formal offer of marriage. It had been easy enough to dispose of the poor gentleman. Francezka's temper was naturally warm.
As she fingered the keys with one hand, the other hanging down, she started with a little shriek of dismay. A dog, crouching unseen under the harpsichord, stood with his forepaws on the edge of Francezka's chair, while he licked affectionately the little white hand so temptingly within his reach. "Good dog wise dog," said Gaston Cheverny, patting the creature.
I saw him disappear under the hill, and ride up to the courtyard and then he was walking toward me across the grass." She stopped suddenly and asked me: "Have you noticed how much alike Gaston and Regnard have become?" "Yes, Mademoiselle or Madame Cheverny, I should say." Francezka's face dimpled into a rosy smile. "It is the second time to-day that I have been called Madame Cheverny.
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