When we catch a wild falcon which has changed its plumage we
term it a _hagard_. Raoul first taught me to dress a falcon. Shall I
teach you how it is done?" She seated herself on the bank of the stream among the falcons and I
threw myself at her feet to listen. Then the Demoiselle d'Ys held up one rosy-tipped finger and began very
gravely. "First one must catch the falcon." "I am caught," I answered. She laughed very prettily and told me my _dressage_ would perhaps be
difficult, as I was noble. "I am already tamed," I replied; "jessed and belled." She laughed, delighted. "Oh, my brave falcon; then you will return at my
call?" "I am yours," I answered gravely. She sat silent for a moment. Then the colour heightened in her cheeks and
she held up her finger again, saying, "Listen; I wish to speak of
falconry--"

"I listen, Countess Jeanne d'Ys." But again she fell into the reverie, and her eyes seemed fixed on
something beyond the summer clouds. "Philip," she said at last. "Jeanne," I whispered. "That is all,--that is what I wished," she sighed,--"Philip and Jeanne." She held her hand toward me and I touched it with my lips. "Win me," she said, but this time it was the body and soul which spoke in
unison. After a while she began again: "Let us speak of falconry." "Begin," I replied; "we have caught the falcon." Then Jeanne d'Ys took my hand in both of hers and told me how with
infinite patience the young falcon was taught to perch upon the wrist,
how little by little it became used to the belled jesses and the
_chaperon à cornette_. "They must first have a good appetite," she said; "then little by little
I reduce their nourishment; which in falconry we call _pât_. When,
after many nights passed _au bloc_ as these birds are now, I prevail
upon the _hagard_ to stay quietly on the wrist, then the bird is
ready to be taught to come for its food. I fix the _pât_ to the end
of a thong, or _leurre_, and teach the bird to come to me as soon as
I begin to whirl the cord in circles about my head. At first I drop the
_pât_ when the falcon comes, and he eats the food on the ground. After a little he will learn to seize the _leurre_ in motion as I
whirl it around my head or drag it over the ground. After this it is easy
to teach the falcon to strike at game, always remembering to _'faire
courtoisie á l'oiseau'_, that is, to allow the bird to taste the
quarry." A squeal from one of the falcons interrupted her, and she arose to adjust
the _longe_ which had become whipped about the _bloc_, but the
bird still flapped its wings and screamed. "What _is_ the matter?" she said. "Philip, can you see?" I looked around and at first saw nothing to cause the commotion, which
was now heightened by the screams and flapping of all the birds. Then my
eye fell upon the flat rock beside the stream from which the girl had
risen. A grey serpent was moving slowly across the surface of the
boulder, and the eyes in its flat triangular head sparkled like jet. "A couleuvre," she said quietly. "It is harmless, is it not?" I asked. She pointed to the black V-shaped figure on the neck. "It is certain death," she said; "it is a viper." We watched the reptile moving slowly over the smooth rock to where the
sunlight fell in a broad warm patch. I started forward to examine it, but she clung to my arm crying, "Don't,
Philip, I am afraid." "For me?" "For you, Philip,--I love you." Then I took her in my arms and kissed her on the lips, but all I could
say was: "Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne." And as she lay trembling on my breast,
something struck my foot in the grass below, but I did not heed it. Then
again something struck my ankle, and a sharp pain shot through me. I
looked into the sweet face of Jeanne d'Ys and kissed her, and with all my
strength lifted her in my arms and flung her from me. Then bending, I
tore the viper from my ankle and set my heel upon its head. I remember
feeling weak and numb,--I remember falling to the ground. Through my
slowly glazing eyes I saw Jeanne's white face bending close to mine, and
when the light in my eyes went out I still felt her arms about my neck,
and her soft cheek against my drawn lips. When I opened my eyes, I looked around in terror. Jeanne was gone. I saw
the stream and the flat rock; I saw the crushed viper in the grass beside
me, but the hawks and _blocs_ had disappeared. I sprang to my feet. The garden, the fruit trees, the drawbridge and the walled court were
gone. I stared stupidly at a heap of crumbling ruins, ivy-covered and
grey, through which great trees had pushed their way. I crept forward,
dragging my numbed foot, and as I moved, a falcon sailed from the
tree-tops among the ruins, and soaring, mounting in narrowing circles,
faded and vanished in the clouds above. "Jeanne, Jeanne," I cried, but my voice died on my lips, and I fell on my
knees among the weeds. And as God willed it, I, not knowing, had fallen
kneeling before a crumbling shrine carved in stone for our Mother of
Sorrows. I saw the sad face of the Virgin wrought in the cold stone. I
saw the cross and thorns at her feet, and beneath it I read:

  "PRAY FOR THE SOUL OF THE
  DEMOISELLE JEANNE D'Ys,
  WHO DIED
  IN HER YOUTH FOR LOVE OF
  PHILIP, A STRANGER. A.D. 1573." But upon the icy slab lay a woman's glove still warm and fragrant. THE PROPHETS' PARADISE

  "If but the Vine and Love Abjuring Band
  Are in the Prophets' Paradise to stand,
  Alack, I doubt the Prophets' Paradise,
  Were empty as the hollow of one's hand." THE STUDIO

He smiled, saying, "Seek her throughout the world." I said, "Why tell me of the world? My world is here, between these walls
and the sheet of glass above; here among gilded flagons and dull jewelled
arms, tarnished frames and canvasses, black chests and high-backed
chairs, quaintly carved and stained in blue and gold." "For whom do you wait?" he said, and I answered, "When she comes I shall
know her." On my hearth a tongue of flame whispered secrets to the whitening ashes. In the street below I heard footsteps, a voice, and a song. "For whom then do you wait?" he said, and I answered, "I shall know her." Footsteps, a voice, and a song in the street below, and I knew the song
but neither the steps nor the voice. "Fool!" he cried, "the song is the same, the voice and steps have but
changed with years!" On the hearth a tongue of flame whispered above the whitening ashes:
"Wait no more; they have passed, the steps and the voice in the street
below." Then he smiled, saying, "For whom do you wait? Seek her throughout the
world!" I answered, "My world is here, between these walls and the sheet of glass
above; here among gilded flagons and dull jewelled arms, tarnished frames
and canvasses, black chests and high-backed chairs, quaintly carved and
stained in blue and gold." THE PHANTOM

The Phantom of the Past would go no further. "If it is true," she sighed, "that you find in me a friend, let us turn
back together. You will forget, here, under the summer sky."