had been calling him 'my darling' in the tenderest manner.

How the three rascals shouted, and what a vain struggle it was to try
and preserve my dignity when Laddie clasped his hands and begged pardon,
explaining that jokes were necessary to his health, and he never meant
me to know the full baseness of this 'pleasantrie!' I revenged myself by
giving him some bad English for his translation, and telling him of it
just as I left Paris.

It was not all fun with my boy, however; he had his troubles, and in
spite of his cheerfulness he knew what heartache was. Walking in the
quaint garden of the Luxembourg one day, he confided to me the little
romance of his life. A very touching little romance as he told it, with
eloquent eyes and voice and frequent pauses for breath. I cannot give
his words, but the simple facts were these:--

He had grown up with a pretty cousin, and at eighteen was desperately in
love with her. She returned his affection, but they could not be happy,
for her father wished her to marry a richer man. In Poland, to marry
without the consent of parents is to incur lasting disgrace; so Leonore
obeyed, and the young pair parted. This had been a heavy sorrow to
Laddie, and he rushed into the war, hoping to end his trouble.

'Do you ever hear from your cousin?' I asked, as he walked beside me,
looking sadly down the green aisles where kings and queens had loved and
parted years ago.

'I only know that she suffers still, for she remembers. Her husband
submits to the Russians, and I despise him as I have no English to
tell;' and he clenched his hands with the flash of the eye and sudden
kindling of the whole face that made him handsome.

He showed me a faded little picture, and when I tried to comfort him, he
laid his head down on the pedestal of one of the marble queens who
guard the walk, as if he never cared to lift it up again.

But he was all right in a minute, and bravely put away his sorrow with
the little picture. He never spoke of it again, and I saw no more
shadows on his face till we came to say good-bye.

'You have been so kind to me, I wish I had something beautiful to give
you, Laddie,' I said, feeling that it would be hard to get on without my
boy.

'This time it is for always; so, as a parting souvenir, give to me the
sweet English good-bye.'

As he said this, with a despairing sort of look, as if he could not
spare even so humble a friend as myself, my heart was quite rent within
me