It was his turn to be grave now and she glanced at him with a gleam of satisfaction beneath her lids.

She was not content with that, however, but wished to make him angry.

So she laughed again and they would have quarrelled if he had not kept his lips firmly closed and looked straight in front of him.
They passed between the unfinished ruin known as the Italian house and the rampart.

The Italian house screened them from the windows of that portion of the ancient stabling which the Marquis had made habitable when he bought back the chateau of Gemosac from the descendant of an adventurous republican to whom the estate had been awarded in the days of the Terror.

A walk of lime-trees bordered that part of the garden which lies to the west of the Italian house, and no other part was visible from where Juliette paused to watch the sun sink below the distant horizon.