she crooned to herself the air of a ballad of the time, and appeared too deeply engrossed in her work and song to have eyes or ears for anything else.
Yet young Denys St. Jean was worth looking at. Well-built he was, soldierly in bearing and self-reliant in mien, with a fair frank honest face, though now grave with thought and purpose, as he turned the corner of the Maison at a slow deliberate pace.
Seeing Lucette he started and his face brightened; and he smiled as he perceived her absorption in her task was overacted. He hesitated just an instant as if about to speak to her, but with a slight frown checked the inclination, walked on a few paces, lingered again, and then stopped.
Lucette meanwhile was treading her wheel vigorously and singing sweetly to herself—
There was once a maiden in Arcady,
Whose lover so feal and true
Came riding forth from the sullen north
Her sweet white hand to woo.
During the verse Denys stood with his back to the singer, his arms folded in an attitude suggestive of antagonism; but once or twice, when he half-turned toward her, the smile on his lips and the light in his eyes told of very different feelings.
When the song ceased he maintained his attitude of indifference, keeping his back to her and his arms still folded, waiting for her to speak; but when she gave no sign that she knew of his presence, he turned and stole up behind her softly, with a smile of expectation, and bent over her.
Her industry and absorption appeared to increase, however, and her foot pressed the treadle, the wheel flew round, and her white fingers flashed hither and
