shake of the head, as if she were not sorry that the Norman countess was at rest and quiet.
"But who is it? Speak, will you, you provoking creature?" demanded Valerie petulantly, as she put one foot down to the lower branch of the tree in preparation for descent.
"Well then," replied the old woman with evident enjoyment of the consternation she was about to evoke,—"well, then, Monsieur le Comte has arrived, and with him Monsieur le Vicomte Gaston."
"My father and Gaston!" exclaimed François in great astonishment; while Valerie sprang lightly to the ground, and passed her hand over her hair, adjusted her necklace and bracelets, and plumed herself like a bird.
"Yes, as I tell you, and here they are," replied Marie, pointing to the terrace leading down from the chateau, where now appeared the mean and insignificant figure of the Comte de Montarnaud, his handsome scowling son Gaston, and two or three attendants, the latter apparently offering explanations and apologies which the count waved impatiently and contemptuously aside.
"Valerie!" murmured François, as the two hastened to meet the new-comers; and Marie kept as close as possible upon their heels, not to lose the explanation and possible scene impending.
"Valerie, I am sure that ill fortune is upon us. Promise me that you will always love me; promise that you will never marry another man; promise"—
"Oh, hush, François! you make me nervous with
