Surely Eros was directing his steps! For, scarcely had he passed within the porch of the Ravengar Chantry when his ear caught the soft rustle of silk, and Mademoiselle Rivière herself was standing before him. She had entered by another door, and the basket of flowers hanging from her arm seemed to indicate that her object in visiting the church was to deck its altar. Dressed in a graceful costume of black and silver that harmonized exquisitely with her delicate complexion she looked more beautiful and witching than ever in Idris' eyes, as with a bright smile she extended her hand.
"And your sprained ankle?" he asked, when their first greetings were over.
"Is not my presence here a satisfactory answer to that question?" she smiled.
"May I ask for a flower in exchange, mademoiselle?" said Idris, as he returned the book to her.
"Here is variety to choose from. Let me learn your favourite."
She held out the basket for Idris to make his choice.
"You are taking nothing but forget-me-nots," she cried.
"I am in a parabolical mood, you see. The name of this flower expresses what my lips would say."
"And thereby you accuse me of ingratitude."
"How so?"