was favored with a glimpse of Mrs. Fluette.

Sunday afternoon mother and daughter drove up to headquarters in the
family carriage. Although the girl had been tactful enough to eschew a
heavy veil and sombre apparel, it was plain to be seen that the event
was almost too great an ordeal for even her proud and dauntless spirit.

Belle descended from the carriage hesitantly, and then stood looking
about with an air of such helpless terror that I approached--I had
previously resolved to keep myself effaced during the visit--and
conducted her into the Captain's private office, where Maillot was
waiting. She gave me an embarrassed, beseeching glance, and murmured a
barely audible "Thank you." No more was said. She faltered an instant
on the threshold, then, sobbing, rushed in. I made haste to close the
door and rejoin Mrs. Fluette.

This lady was slight and frail, with hair as white as snow, and about
her there hung an intangible something which gave me the impression
that she was a woman who had suffered much. Although I strove to speak
cheerfully of the prospects of Maillot's early release, her manner was
quite discouraging to all my overtures. When she spoke at all it was
only in the faintest of monosyllables--usually with her eyes avoiding
mine. She looked at me, when at all, shyly, started at every unusual
sound, and trembled during the whole time she sat in the Captain's big
easy-chair.

At the end of the allotted half-hour--I was n't very particular over
the number of minutes--Mrs. Fluette's increasing nervousness and
impatience moved me to rap upon the private-room door. Belle emerged,
her cheeks white and her eyes swollen with weeping. The poor girl
pressed my hand when I helped her into the carriage--clung to it
despairingly, to be exact--and the tears again gushed to her eyes.

"This is killing me!" she moaned. "Oh, it is! it is! I can't stand it
much longer."

"Courage, Miss Fluette," I undertoned assuasively. "Everything is
working for the best, believe me."

Ah, but was it? I could not say the words with much assurance. They
drove away, two sad, harassed women.

Touching again upon Wednesday afternoon, I was pretty sure that the
Fluette carriage would meet Genevieve at the station--very likely with
Belle, or possibly Mrs. Fluette. In anticipation of this contingency I
had sent a note to the house with the request that she find an excuse
to meet me at the earliest possible moment, for I w