The Count at once came forward. He drew Harriet to a chair by the fire, declaring that she must be chilled from the long drive, and insisted on her taking a glass of wine. She accepted, and he stayed by her, engaging her in conversation, while Judith went to the window to admire the garden.

It was laid out in neat walks, much of it under cultivation for vegetables, but there were some flowerbeds as well, and the tops of the fruit trees beyond the mellow brick wall were heavy with blossom. From the window could be seen rose bushes, some fine fig trees, and several orange trees. Judith thought the garden must be enchanting in summer.

"I daresay it is," agreed Barbara. "We might arrange another expedition here, perhaps in June."

"June! Who knows what may have happened by then?"

"Oh, you are thinking of the war, are you? I am tired of it: we have heard too much of it, and nothing ever happens."

"It certainly seems out of place in this peaceful little Chateau," Judith remarked. "You must have had a delightful ride through the Forest. Such noble trees! I do not think there can be any tree to compare with the beech."

"Beech trees, are they? To tell you the truth, I did not notice them particularly," said Barbara. "Etienne, fill glasses, if you please!"

"Ah, allow me!" Peregrine said, hurrying to the table for the decanter that stood on it.

She held out her glass, smiling at him. He filled it, and his own, saying audaciously: "To your green eyes, Lady Bab!"

She laughed. "To your blue ones, Sir Peregrine!" Luncheon was brought in at this moment, and soon the whole party was seated round the table, partaking of minced chicken and scalloped oysters.

Lady Barbara was in spirits, the Count scarcely less so, and everything might have gone off merrily enough had not Lady Taverner taken one of her rare dislikes to Barbara. Like many shy women, she had some strong prejudices. She had never liked Barbara. Until today she had known her merely by sight and by repute, and being a just little creature, had refused to condemn her .But from the moment of seeing Barbara come down the steps of her home in her hussar dress she had seen that gossip had not lied. Barbara was fast, and, since she chose deliberately to ride off alone with a dreadfull rake, unprincipled into the bargain. She offended every canon of good taste: lounged like a man, tossed off her wine like a man, and (thought Harriet, in her innocence) swore like a trooper. Listening to her conversation at the luncheon table, Harriet decided that some of her sallies were a trifle warm. Shocked. and with a very prim expression on her face, she tried to give the conversation a more decorous turn. It was too pointed an attempt; Barbara looked at her, blankly at first, and then in frank amusement. She addressed an idle remark to Harriet, received the chilliest of monosyllables in reply, and openly laughed.

Judith intervened, and the awkward moment passed. But as Harriet, mortified by the laugh, remained for the rest of the meal apparently oblivious of Barbara's presence, she began to wish that she had never hit upon the idea of arranging this pleasure party. The task of talking to Harriet without ignoring Barbara taxed her powers to the utmost, and by the time they rose from the table she would have been hard put to it to say which of the two ladies she most blamed.

Luncheon at an end, a walk in the orchard and wood was proposed. Harriet declined it, but when she had been comfortably settled with a book by the fire, the rest of the party strolled out into the garden, and after wandering about its paths for a little while, made their way into the orchard. Daffodils were growing under the fruit trees in great profusion. Judith could not resist the temptation of picking some. The Count gave instant permission: his cousin would be only too happy! had, in fact, written to beg that the visitors would consider the Chateau their own. She soon had an armful; he very considerately ran back to the house with them, to save her the trouble of carrying them; and returned to find her waiting for him under a gnarled old apple tree, Barbara having gone off to explore the wood with Peregrine.

Judith believed Peregrine to be too devoted to his Harriet to be in danger of succumbing to Barbara's charms, but the light raillery that had been going on between them made her feel a little uneasy. Courtesy had obliged her to wait for Lavisse's return, but when he joined her it was she, and not he, who suggested marching up with the others.

They made their way into the wood, but after they had been walking about for a time without seeing nothing of the truants, the Count suggested that they should follow the track which led from the Chateau, through the wood, and over a slight hill to the Charleroi road.

"I mentioned to Bab that there is a view to be obtained from the top of the hill. Without doubt they have gone there," he said. "You will not be too tired? It is perhaps a kilometre's distance."

"I should enjoy it of all things. This spring weather is invigorating, don't you agree?"

"Certainly. But I fear my poor country must disappoint one accustomed to the varied scene in England."

"By no means. Perhaps there is a variety in England not elsewhere to be found: I myself am a native of Yorkshire, where, we flatter ourselves, we have unsurpassed grandeur. But there is something very taking about this country of yours. If you have none of the rugged beauty I could show you in Yorkshire, you have instead a homely, thriving scene which must inevitably please. So many rivers, so many neat farmsteads, shady copses, and rich fields!"

"This is unexpected praise, madame. Bab declares my country to be too tame. Nothing can happen here, she says."

"She speaks lightly," Judith replied. "My knowledge of history, though not at all profound, reminds me that, in spite of every appearance to the contrary, stirring events have happened here."

"You are thinking of your Duke of Marlborough. It is true: this poor land of mine has been often the battlefield of Europe, and may be so yet again - perhaps many times: who knows?"

"Oh, do not think of such a thing! There must be no more wars: we seem to have been fighting ever since I can remember! We shall defeat Bonaparte, and win a lasting peace. Can you doubt it?"

"Be sure I do not desire to doubt it, madame," he replied.

They were climbing a slight hill, and were soon rewarded by the sight of Barbara and Peregrine, resting on the top. Barbara had found shelter from the wind in the lee of a hedge, and was sitting on the bank. She waved, and called out: "It is all a hum! Nothing to be seen but a plain sprinkled with hillocks, and a great many fields of green corn."

Country-bred Peregrine corrected her. "No, no, you understate, Lady Bab! There are fields of rye as well, and at least two of clover. What a height the crops must grow to here! I never saw anything to equal it, so early in the year!"

"Oh, now you go beyond me! I find myself at one with Dr Johnson, who declared - did he not? - that one green field was just like another!"

"Horrid old man!" said Judith, who had come up to ahem by this time. She looked around her. "Why, how could you libel the view so perversely? How pretty the very stone walls look through the trees! Is that the Charleroi road?"

"Yes, madame," said Lavisse. "The little farm you are looking at is La Belle Alliance."

"Delightful!" said Judith. "So many of the villages -and the farms here have pretty names, I find. Can we see the place where you are quartered from here?"

"No, it is too far. I ride to it by the Nivelles road, until I am tired of that way, which is, in effect, quite straight and not very amusing. If you should ever honour Nivelles with a visit, I recommend you to come by the Charleroi road. It is a little longer, but you would be pleased, I think, with the village of Vieux-Genappe which one passes through. There is an old stone bridge, and many of the quaint cottages you admire."

"I know the way you mean," said Peregrine. "I went to Nivelles one day last autumn, with a party of friends, and I believe we turned off the chaussee about four miles beyond Genappe."

"That would be Quatre-Bras," said the Count.

"Another pretty name for you, Lady Worth," said Barbara. "What is that monument I can see in the distance, Etienne?"

He glanced southwards, following the direction of her pointing finger. "Merely the Observatory. There is nothing here of interest, no monuments, no famous scenes."

"Very true; it is infamously tame!" she said, with one of her flickering smiles. "And yet I don't know! Had you taken us to Malplaquet, or Oudenarde, you would have dragged us through hedges and over muddy fields to look at an old battlefield, I daresay. Nothing is more tedious, for there is never anything to be seen but what you may as well look at anywhere else! My late husband plagued my life out with such expeditions. I have seen Sedgemoor, and Naseby, and Newbury - two battlefields there, as I remember - and I give you my word there was nothing to choose between any of them, except that one was not so far from the road as another."

Peregrine, who had been gazing abstractedly to the south, said: "Well, I suppose for all we know there might be a battle fought hereabouts, might there not? Isn't the Charleroi road one of the main ways into France?"

"Oh, don't, Perry!" said his sister. "This is too peaceful a spot for battles. There are other ways into France, are there not, Count?"

"Assuredly, madame. There is, for instance, the road through Mons. But Sir Peregrine has reason. It is to guard this highway that my division is quartered about Nivelles."