rdent eyes.

Upon him her gaze rested the longest. Then with a little wave of her
hand she prayed them to be seated, and waited to begin her say until
the wine had passed round.

"Gentlemen," then quoth she, "with my good uncle's permission I shall
read you the letter which I have this night received, so that English
gentlemen may learn how those who are faithful to their God and their
King are being dealt with in my country. This letter is from Monsieur
de Puisaye, one of the most active partisans of the Royal cause, a
connection of the ancient house of Savenaye. And he begins by telling
me of the unexpected reverses sustained by our men so close upon their
successes at Chateau-Gonthier, successes that had raised our loyal
hopes so high. 'The most crushing defeat,' he writes, 'has taken place
near the town of Savenaye itself, on your own estate, and your
historic house is now, alas! in ruins.... During the last obstinate
fight your husband had been wounded, but after performing prodigies of
valour--such as, it was hoped or trusted, the king should in time hear
of--he escaped from the hands of his enemies. For many weeks with a
few hundred followers he held the fields in the Marais, but he was at
last hemmed in and captured by one of the monster Thureau's _Colonnes
Infernales_, those hellish legions with an account of whose deeds,' so
says this gallant gentleman our friend, 'I will not defile my pen, but
whose boasts are like those of Attila the Hun, and who in their malice
have invented obscene tortures worthy of Iroquois savages for all who
fall into their clutches, be they men, women, or children.... But, by
Heaven's mercy, dear Madame,' says M. de Puisaye to me, 'your noble
husband was too weak to afford sport to those demons, and so he has
escaped torment. He was hanged with all speed indeed, for fear he
might die first of his toils and his wounds, and so defeat them at the
last.'"

A rustling murmur of horror and indignation went round the table; but
the little woman faced the audience proudly.

"He died," she said, "as beseems a brave man. But this is not all. I
had a sister, she was very fair--like me some people said, in
looks--she used to be the merry one at home in the days of peace," she
gave a little smile, far more piteous than tears would be--"She chose
to remain among her people when they were fighting, to help the
wounded, the sick." Here Madame de Savenaye paused a moment and put
down the letter f