Before them was a grassy lawn with borders of rose bushes, and beyond, the vast sweep of the hills, the river and the far shore showed dimly through the dusk.

The air, moved by a light wind, was crisp, fresh and pure, and, as Robert breathed it deeply, he felt his head grow clear and cool.

Several men were walking in the garden.

One of them was Jumonville, and the others he did not know.
"A wonderful site and a wonderful view," said Robert.
"But from Montmartre in Paris one may see a far greater city," said Boucher at his elbow.
Robert turned angrily upon him.

He felt that the man, in some manner, was pursuing him, and that he had stood enough.
"I did not speak to you, Monsieur Boucher," he said.
"But I spoke to you, my young sprig of a Bostonnais." He spoke with truculence, and now de Courcelles did not interfere.