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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

My eyes rested in Camille's and hers in mine. A musical license gave us the courage. At the last note our gaze did not sink but took on more glow, while out of the forest behind us a distant echo answered the last measure of the strain. Then our eyes slowly fell; and however it may have seemed to her, to me it was as if the vanished strains were not only or chiefly of bugle and echo, but as though our two hearts had called and answered in that melodious unison.

"How long have you belonged to Ferry's scouts?" sceptically demanded their spokesman.

I averted my face and answered with a nod.

She struck a mock-sentimental attitude and murmured musically--

I said I knew and went on gathering sweet-pea blossoms.

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