" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. “I hope that whatever your plans may be, you will give me the opportunity of seeing something of you now and then. I had that coming. ” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. .
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