A man's brain can accept only so many blows or surprises at one time;

after that he becomes dazed, incapable of lucid thought. At this

moment it seemed to the Chevalier that he was passing through some

extravagant dream. The marquis was unreal; yonder was a vapor assuming

the form of a woman. He stared patiently, waiting for the dream to

dissolve.

He was staring into a beautiful face, lively, yet possessing that

unmarred serenity which the Greeks gave to their female statues; but it

was warm as living flesh is warm. Every feature expressed nobility in

the catholic sense of the word; the proud, delicate nose, the amiable,

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curving mouth, the firm chin and graceful throat. In the candle-light

the skin had that creamy pallor of porcelain held between the eye and

the sun. The hair alone would have been a glory even to a Helen. It

could be likened to no color other than that russet gold which lines

the chestnut bur. The eyes were of that changing amber of woodland

pools in autumn; and a soul lurked in them, a brave, merry soul, more

given to song and laughter than to tears. The child of Venus had taken

up his abode in this woman's heart; for to see her was to love her, and

to love her was to despair.

The tableau lasted several seconds. She was first to recover; being a

woman, her mind moved swifter.

"Do I wear the shield of Perseus, and is the head of Medusa thereupon?

Truly, I have turned Monsieur du Cévennes into stone!"

"Diane, can it be you?" he gasped, seeing that the beautiful vision did

not vanish into thin air.

"Diane?" she repeated, moving toward the mantel. "No; not Diane. I am

no longer the huntress; I flee. Call me Daphne."

He sprang forward, but she raised her hand warningly.

"Do not come too close, Monsieur, or I shall be forced to change myself

into laurel," still keeping hold of the mythological thread.

"What does it all mean? I am dazed!" He covered his eyes, then

withdrew his hand. "You are still there? You do not disappear?"

"I am flesh and blood as yet," with low laughter.

"And you are here in Quebec?" advancing, his face radiant with love and

joy.

"Take care, or you will stumble against your vanity." Her glance roved

toward the door. There was something of madness in the Chevalier's

eyes. In his hands her mask had become a shapeless mass of silken

cloth. "I did not come to Quebec because you were here, Monsieur;

though I was perfectly aware of your presence here. That is why I ask

you not to stumble against your vanity."

"What do you here, in Heaven's name?"

"I am contemplating peace and quiet for the remainder of my days. It

is quite possible that within a few weeks I shall become . . . a nun."




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