When Esperance's portrait was finished, the family could not admire it enough. Maurice who was for himself, as for others, a severe critic, said, "It is the first time that I have been satisfied with my own work. Little cousin, you have brought me luck, so if my uncle will permit me I am going to teach you to ride a horse."

"My goodness!" said Madame Darbois, "still more anxiety for us!"

But Esperance clasped her hands with delight.

The first riding lessons were a source of new joy for Esperance. Maurice was an excellent rider, and his passion for horses had made him expert in handling them. He had chosen a horse for his cousin from a stable in the Cotes-du-Nord, the private stable of the Count Marcus de Treilles, the horse had been secured at a bargain on account of some blemishes of his coat. He was very gentle, however, and the Darbois soon felt confidence in him. Doctor Potain had recommended a great deal of physical exercise for the patient, to counteract the excess of mental work which had weakened her heart.

"Riding, fishing, walking, tennis," the great specialist had said to FranÇois Darbois, "will be the best thing for your daughter, and," pressing his hand, "let her get married as soon as possible."

Long excursions about the little island became for Esperance the most delightful part of their country life. Very often M. and Madame Darbois, Mlle. Frahender and Genevieve Hardouin would follow in the brake. They carried their lunch with them and ate it sometimes in the little wood of Loret, sometimes on the cliffs amidst the broom, furze and asters with their golden flowers and silver foliage.

The philosopher's fishing fleet was composed, as he laughingly said, of a blue boat with blue sails, and a little Swedish whaler. FranÇois went every evening about six o'clock to set the nets with the farmer's eldest son, whose portrait Maurice intended doing for the following Salon. All the little colony gathered at nine in the morning on the beach, ready with baskets to bear away the catch.

Maurice, Jean and Esperance went out with the Professor to get the nets. Sometimes they had been put far out and then Esperance would row with the others, for which rough sport her delicate arms seemed out of place. The young people would cry out with delight every time they saw the fish under the transparent water held by the meshes. Sometimes they had quite a big draught; two or three rays, several magnificent soles, with mullets, and flounders. Sometimes a great lobster would give the net such tweaks that they guessed his presence before they saw him. And sometimes it happened that the catch was nothing but a few sea crabs, who would half devour the other unfortunate fish imprisoned with them. Another day a great octopus appeared, and Esperance grew pale with fright at sight of his long clinging tentacles.

Esperance often made a selection of the seaweeds in the net, and she and Genevieve commenced an album in which they pasted, in fanciful designs, these plants, fine as straws or solid and sharp of colour. This album was intended for Mme. Styvens, and the girls worked at it lovingly. Maurice would sometimes assist them with his advice or make them a sketch which they could copy as carefully as their beautiful materials would admit. Mlle. Frahender devoted infinite patience to gluing the tiniest fibres of the sea plants. Some were bright pink, suggesting in formation and colour the little red fishing boats. Others were gold with their slender little flowers rising in clusters. The long supple green algaes, swelling along their stems into little round beads, like beads of jade, looked as though they wore some Chinese costume. As the album grew it gave promise of wonderful surprises.

On the first of September FranÇois Darbois received a letter from Count Styvens, asking permission to come and submit to him a philosophical work that he had just finished. He begged to present his compliments to Mme. and Mlle. Darbois. The professor read the letter aloud after dinner.

"I hardly think," he queried, "that I can well refuse this pleasure to my favourite pupil?"

Maurice, Jean, the old Mademoiselle and Mme. Darbois seemed very happy at the prospect of a visit from the Count.

"He is a very good musician…." "He can row splendidly…." "He has a heart of gold…." concluded the philosopher.

A dispatch was sent to Albert Styvens, telling him they would all be delighted to see him. Only Esperance showed some reserve, and Maurice cried out, "My cousin is in dread of musical evenings, I see!"

They all laughed at this quip, which had a very close resemblance to the truth.

"Yes, papa, but no music after dinner: our evenings would be lost! It is so pleasant to go for long walks on these wonderful moonlight nights! The piano is for the town, here we only want to enjoy the harmonious music of nature, the sea that croons or roars, the wind that whistles, whistles or scolds, the plaint of the sea-gulls in the storm, the cry of the frightened gulls and cormorants, the clicking of the pebbles rolled over by the waves; all these charm me strangely and I often sleep on the little beach, soothed by these melodies which you will find echoed in the themes of our great masters."

The philosopher drew his daughter on his knee.

"Very well. We will not mention music to your lover."

The word had slipped out but it stung the young girl, however, she would not let her resentment appear.

"So," she thought, "they all accept the courting of Albert Styvens. My father himself is part of the conspiracy against me."

She led Genevieve outside and confided to her her apprehensions. Her young friend did not deny that the coming of Count Styvens had the appearance to all of an approaching proposal of marriage.

"My God," said Esperance, pressing her friend's arm, "it seems to me that I shall never be able to say 'Yes.' I am so happy as I am."

The two girls were sitting on a little mound. The moon was reflected in a sea as quiet as the sky.

"See," said Esperance, "that is the image of my life. At this moment I am calm, happy, and my art is like that bright star. It brightens everything for me without troubling me…. I do not love Count Styvens. Oh!" she went on in answer to a movement from Genevieve, "I like him as a friend, but I do not love him. I know he is a gallant gentleman, a fine musician, and a splendid athlete; I recognize that he is very generous and that he is entirely unselfish—for these I greatly respect him, but these qualities alone have nothing to do with love."

"He is a very good-looking man," said Genevieve.

"His arms are too long and he has not any decided colour. His face, his hair, his eyes are all of a neutral tint which you cannot define."

"But handsome men are very rare!"

Esperance did not answer.

"There is the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, too. Do you like him any better?"

The moon shone full on Esperance's face.

"Great Heavens, dearie," exclaimed Genevieve quickly, "you are not in love with that man, I hope."

"Don't speak so loud," said Esperance, frightened. "No, I am not in love with the Duke, but he bothers me, I confess. He is continually in my mind, and the thought of him makes the blood rush to my heart. When he is present I can struggle against him, but I have no strength against the picture of him I so often conjure up. That dominates me more than he can do himself. That seems innocent enough, but I know very well all the same, that I find every excuse for dwelling on the thought of him. No, I do not love him … but still…." she murmured very low.

Genevieve took her friend in her arms.

"Esperance, darling, save yourself! Think of the downfall of your mother's happiness, think of the fearful remorse of your father. Think of your godfather's iniquitous triumph. Ah! I beg of you, accept the Count's love, become his wife, you will be constrained by your loyalty to save your father's honour. But the Duke…."

"My father's honour is precious to me, and you see, I am defending it badly," said Esperance. She wept quietly. Genevieve drew her head down on her shoulder. Esperance kissed her.

"Come, we must go back, it is getting late. I thank you, Genevieve, and I love you."

A letter arrived the next morning which announced that the Count would pay them his visit on Thursday.

There were just three days before his coming. Esperance had made up her mind, after her talk with Genevieve, to accede to her parents' wishes. She and Genevieve went to inspect the room that had been prepared for the Count. It was a little square apartment very nicely arranged. On the floor was a mat with red and white squares. The windows looked out on the rocky coast. The young people decided to hang some small variegated laurels from the ceiling to decorate it. On the mantel they put some flower vases on either side of a plaque representing the golden wedding of a Breton couple. Mme. Darbois opened for them what Esperance called her "reliquary," and they found there flowers and ribbons. They chose wisteria, and lavender and white ribbons, then went to work on their wreath. A large crown of pretty bunches was hung from satin ribbons. When it was ready the four young people went with ladder and tools to hang the wreaths, Maurice standing high up on the ladder drove in the peg intended to hold the crown.

"As reward for this service, you know," he said, "I must be allowed to put the wreath on your pretty head, the day that you are married."

Esperance blushed and sighed sadly.

The room was charming in its decoration, though when it was finished it seemed more fit for a young girl than for a big, broad-shouldered man.

M. and Mme. Darbois went to meet Count Styvens at Palais. FranÇois had taken his glasses and pointed out the boat to his wife.

"There is the Count," said Mme. Darbois. "I recognize his tall figure."

In truth, Albert Styvens was stepping ashore, holding in his arms a child of two or three years. He put it down carefully, and held out his hand to a poor, bent old woman, who tried to straighten up to thank the kind gentleman.

FranÇois and Germaine came up to the young man, who pressed the philosopher's hand and presented his respects to Mme. Darbois: and seeing them look with some curiosity at the old woman, he said, "Here, Madame, are some good people deserving of your kindness. Mme. Borderie is this little chap's grandmother. Her widowed son died five months ago of tuberculosis, and as the child was coughing she gave everything she had to take him to a specialist in Nantes. The rough sea to-day made the poor little fellow ill, bringing on a horrible coughing attack. The poor woman was too weak to hold him during his convulsions, and he rolled away from her, and she was so frightened when he did not move, that she was going to throw herself overboard. I rushed with the other passengers to stop her, we calmed her finally, and after some little time I was able to resuscitate the child, who had gone off in a fit."

The poor woman wept as he talked, and showed a banknote he had slipped into her hand when he said good-bye.

"You must put that away. You will need it," said the young Count, smiling.

"Where do you live?" enquired Germaine.

"At Pont-Herlin."

"That is some distance away?"

The old woman shook her head and feebly shrugged her thin shoulders.

"I must go there."

"Well, Mme. Borderie, we will take you there."

Without further parley, Albert picked the old woman up lightly and set her down in the brake. The baby was deposited on her knees where he promptly fell asleep. The Count's little trunk found place beside the farmer on the front seat. A basket of osier, which the young man had handled very carefully, was also placed in the brake, and then they set off for Pont-Herlin.

They were growing anxious at the farm of Penhouet, at the non-appearance of M. and Mme. Darbois, Pont-Herlin lies some way from the Point des Poulains and the roads are not in very good condition, especially for a two horse brake. But soon the wind brought the sound of horse's hoofs and shortly after the brake drew up before the farm. Albert went white at sight of Esperance. She had come forward first, fearful on account of the delay. Mme. Darbois explained the cause, and spoke of the Count's great kindness, to the old woman and her boy.

Esperance raised her pretty eyes, damp with emotion; she looked at Albert, wishing she could admire his person as much as she did his mind. And, somehow, as she looked she was agreeably surprised.

"After all, he is not ugly, if he is not handsome," she thought, "and he is so genuinely good."

In this state of mind she left her hand an instant in his and he trembled.

The young people were anxious to lead Styvens to his room. FranÇois, however, was not allowed to accompany them. They marched two ahead, two behind, with the Count between, like a prisoner. Never before had Albert seen Esperance so naturally gay, never had he found her more fascinating. He was almost delirious with happiness. Life seemed to him only possible with this lovely creature for his wife! His wife! Such an accession of blood gushed into his heart at the thought that he stopped giddily.

Jean and Genevieve, who closed the order of march, bumped against him, for he stopped so suddenly that they thought something must be wrong.

"Good Heavens! are you ill?" asked Genevieve.

The Count smiled. "Excuse me, I am sorry. It was my mistake."

As they went on again Maurice whispered to his cousin, "You know, Esperance, you have it in your power to make that man happy for ever. I can see it. Why it seems to be almost a duty. It will be like offending Providence to refuse the wonderful future that lies open before you."

Esperance was very thoughtful, but her gay spirits returned when they arrived at the "Five Divisions of the World." The little cortege climbed the narrow staircase, crossed the little ante-chamber which opened on the opposite side on a court cut out of the rock. Each room had a door on this natural court. Stopping before the last door, on which was written "Oceania," the young people bowed before the Count.

"Behold the prison of your Highness!"

When he was left alone the Count examined his surroundings. His simple chamber seemed to him sumptuous. He smelt the flowers on the mantelpiece, half suspecting that they were an attention of the young girls. The wreath suspended from the ceiling made him smile. It had been hung there in his honour, there could be no doubt about that. There was a knock on the door. Marguerite entered, followed by the farmer bringing the trunk and the osier basket.

He stopped the old servant as she was going out. "Wait a moment and help me, please."

He cut the string which held the basket and took out four bouquets as fresh as if they had just been gathered.

"See, Marguerite, the name is pinned on each bouquet; be so good as to give them to the ladies."

At half-past one the Count appeared walking up and down before the door of the dining-room. He did not want to be the first one to enter. Maurice joined him.

"I would love to see the portrait of your cousin," said Albert.

"I will show it to you after lunch."

"Is it finished?"

"Yes; but I still have some retouching to do to the background, and I shall be glad to have your advice upon it. It is not perhaps exactly necessary, yet every time that I look at it, I feel the need of some slight change."

Genevieve and Esperance came in together. The contrast of this double entry was striking. Genevieve, dark, with regular features, framed by a mass of heavy black hair; Esperance, shell pink, aureoled by her wavy blonde hair. Genevieve was so beautiful that Maurice was moved. Esperance was so dazzling that the Count mentally praised God at the sight of her. He was warmly thanked for his pretty flowers, several blossoms of which each girl had pinned to her dress.

When the fish appeared, Maurice rose gravely.

"This magnificent fish, sir," he said to Albert Styvens, "was caught by me for you; it is for you to decide whether to share it with us or whether you prefer to eat it alone."

The young attachÉ arose and with more humour than they expected from him, took the platter and bowed with it towards Mme. Darbois. The conversation raced merrily along, and they were soon disputing about sports. The Count learned that Esperance rode on horseback. He was delighted, and inquired if he would be able to procure a mount. Jean offered his, but the Count, who knew of his love for Esperance and divined what a joy these excursions must be to him, refused this sacrifice. The farmer's wife, who helped to wait at table and was ignorant of social customs, forthwith entered the conversation.

"Ah! if Madame will permit me, I can bring you to the Commandant, who has a fine horse to sell."

"You may have no fish this evening," said the professor genially. "As
I was away meeting you, I could not put out my net."

"But we did it, father," said Esperance, "and I hope that Count
Styvens will have some magnificent luck. We go fishing this evening."

"So, you are a fisherwoman too, Mademoiselle?"

"We fish every morning, and we shall be very glad to have you join us," said the girl quietly.

After lunch the Count joined the four young people in a ramble along the cliffs. Esperance and Genevieve went arm in arm, the three young men followed; with Styvens in a dream of delight, happier than he had ever been in his life. Maurice was watching Genevieve every day seeing her more beautiful, and abandoning himself without much effort to this new passion. Jean Perliez contemplated Esperance and smiled sadly, if gladly too, at the thought that she was going to be delivered from the dangerous Duke de Morlay-La-Branche. They sat down on a high rock overlooking the little beach of Penhouet and remained silent for a while.

"How very beautiful it is," murmured Albert at last. "You love the sea, do you not, Mlle. Esperance?"

"More than anything else in nature. I love great plains too, but I like them best because they are like the sea when they billow under the breeze."

"You don't like the mountains at all?" asked Genevieve.

"Oh! no, I stifle there. I dream at night that they are pressing in to strangle me. I went to Cauterets with mama after she had bronchitis. I spent all my time climbing to get a view of a horizon and breathe better. As soon as mama was well the Doctor sent us away saying that it was not good for me."

"And the forest?" asked Albert.

"The forest hides the sky too much. Nothing makes me as sad as the deep woods."

"And the lakes, cousin, what do you say of them?"

"A lake makes me shiver. I feel constrained before a lake as before a person whom I know to be false and perfidious. Of course, the sea is dangerous, but no one is ignorant of its caprices, its violence, its tragic love bouts with the wind. The sea is open, whether in laughter or fury. See, look off there," she said, standing upon the rock. "This evening it is calm as a lake, and still the waves are all rippling, preparing for an assault on this rock! It is so immensely alive, even in its great reserve!"

The silhouette of the young girl, cut against the horizon, was blurred by the passing night mist. She seemed a flower blooming by moon-light. Maurice said in a low tone to Genevieve, "See if you can realize this picture. It is beyond the power of any painter."

"One of the aboriginals might have succeeded. He would not have been guided by any of the conventions that are introduced in all the arts and bar the way to the realism of the ideal, which is dear to all true artists."

"The realism of the ideal is very true, but how are you going to make amateurs or critics feel that?"

"Oh!" replied Genevieve, with much conviction, "There is always an amateur of the beautiful, there is always a critic who describes his emotion sincerely, it is for them that I give my tears when I am on the stage."

Esperance dropped on her knees, and taking her friend's head in her hands, "You are always right, Genevieve," she said. "It is a great gift to have you for a friend."

"My little cousin speaks truth," concluded Maurice.

Genevieve stretched out her hand with a smile to thank him. The young man kept the contact of that charming strong hand and kissed it with more warmth than convention required.

"Monsieur Maurice," murmured the girl with trembling lips. But she could not voice a reproach. She got up to hide her blushes.

"Is not this the time for us to go back? The air is getting sharp, and you have no wraps, Esperance."

Count Styvens stood up to his full height and stretched his hands to his little idol to help her up, but she had withdrawn before the two arms stretched towards her, and recoiled in a kind of fright.

"Did I startle you?"

"Oh! No," she said nervously, "But I was dreaming, I was far away…."

"Where were you, cousin?"

"I don't know. Thoughts are sometimes so scattered that it is hardly possible to give a clear impression."

Putting her hands in the Count's she jumped lightly to her feet. The young men led the girls back to the farm, and silence descended upon the Five Divisions of the Globe.

But love made every one of these young creatures somewhat unsettled, and it was long before either of them slept. Esperance and Genevieve talked low, and long silences broke their confidences. Count Styvens had brought cigarettes for Maurice and Jean. All three stayed and talked a long time in the painter's room. Alone with men, Styvens lost all the timidity that sometimes made him awkward. His broad and cultivated mind, his humanitarian philosophy unaffected by his religious beliefs, the sincere simplicity with which he expressed himself, made a great impression on Jean and Maurice.

"That man," said the latter to his friend, "is of another epoch, an epoch when he would have been a hero or a martyr!"

"Perhaps he may yet be both," murmured Jean.