ouse, you may call her Otille, Philip. But
to-night we are in Fort o' God. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, what a witch you
are!"

"An angel!" breathed Philip, but no one heard him.

"And this witch," added the old man, "you are to take in to supper,
M'sieur Philip. To night I suppose that I must call you m'sieur, but
to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings and my skin cap, I will
call you Phil, or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I please. This is the
first time, sir, that my Jeanne has ever gone in to dinner on another
arm than mine or Pierre's. And so I may be a little jealous. Proceed."

As Jeanne's hand rested in his arm, and they went into the hall, Philip
could not restrain himself from whispering:

"I am glad--of that."

"And the dress, M'sieur Philip!" exclaimed D'Arcambal behind them, in
the voice of a happy boy. "It is an honor to escort that, to say
nothing of the silly girl that's in it. That dress, sir, belonged to a
beautiful lady who was called Camille, and who died over a century ago."

"Father, please do be good!" protested Jeanne. "Remember!"

"Ah, so I will," said her father. "I had forgotten that you were to
tell M'sieur Philip these things."

They entered another room illuminated by a single huge lamp suspended
above a table spread with silver and fine linen. The room was as great
a surprise as the other two had been. It contained no chairs. What
Philip mentally designated as benches, with deep cushion seats of
greenish leather, were arranged about the table. These same curious
seats furnished other parts of the room. From the pictures on the walls
to the ancient helmet and cuirass that stood up like a legless sentinel
in one corner, this room, like the others, breathed of extreme age.
Over a big open fireplace, in which half a dozen birch logs were
burning, hung a number of old-fashioned weapons; a flintlock, a pair of
obsolete French dueling pistols, a short rapier similar to that which
Pierre wore, and two long swords. Philip noticed that about each of the
dueling pistols was tied a bow of ribbon, dull and faded, as though the
passing of generations had robbed them of beauty and color, to be
replaced by the somberness of age.

During the meal Philip could not but observe that Jeanne was laboring
under some mysterious strain. Her cheeks were brilliantly flushed, and
her eyes were filled with a lustrous brightness that he had never seen
in them before. Their beauty was almost feverish. Several tim