a Sarpy are intimate friends."

"So much the worse. Her feelings would be the more acute and the
struggle against herself all the keener on that account."

"But Major Hardinge?"

"La, la, la! your Major. She may have loved him till she saw the other
man, and then, _ma foi_----. From a Major to a Captain, from a loyalist
to a rebel is rather a descent, _eh, mon ami?_ But what will you have?
These things cannot be controlled. They happen every day. Do you know
that she is plighted in any way to this Major?"

"She is not."

"How do you know?"

"She told me so."

"Under what circumstances? Excuse this freedom, my friend, but with the
confessions of women everything depends upon circumstances. If it is
under persuasion, a woman may tell you the truth, for their hearts are
good after all. But if it is under compulsion, or threat, or by
strategy, they are a match in fencing with the best of us."

"It was under a sense of duty, and only a few weeks ago. I was annoyed
at Hardinge's manner to me and even to her after the death of that
servant of his who was killed, you remember. I told Pauline I would
resent that conduct if it were repeated, and on the same occasion I
asked her whether she had engaged herself to him in any shape or form.
Her answer was a simple, straightforward negative, and the child is
incapable of untruth."

"This is very well. It removes one difficulty. Her mind does not suffer
from any broken pledge towards the Major."

"But her love for him must remain."

"Not heaven or earth can dominate a woman's love. It is strong as death,
immense as the sea, deep as the abyss, yet a glance of the eye, a wave
of the hand, a smile, a toss of the head may change it for ever. Listen,
Belmont. Your daughter loves the American officer. She grieves for
Hardinge, she grieves for Zulma Sarpy. The diagnosis is complete. She is
wasting away in a silent, hidden combat between herself and her friends.
And I fear the worse."

"You do not mean that Pauline is in danger?"

"It is the duty of friendship to be candid with you. If there is not a
complete change, within ten days your daughter will be dead."

"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed the poor father, his wail of horror
sounding through the house and frightening Pauline from her trance. She
screamed in her turn. M. Belmont leaped to his feet and was about to
rush to her room, when the doctor restrained him.

"Do not present yourself in that condition. It might kill he