comrade-in-arms.

"Heigh-ho!" said Marie, with a half-suppressed yawn, "will this fog
never lift? Who would have thought, after the glorious moon of last
night that we should have such a day as this on the morrow?"

"Patience, _cherie_," replied her friend, looking up from the
embroidery on which she was engaged. "We have had many such mornings
since we came here, but they only make the day seem brighter when the
sun does shine out. See, there is the blue sky beyond the housetops! The
full sun will doubtless be out ere noon. I often think a wise Providence
must send all this mist and rain. If some such means were not taken to
cleanse these streets, we should soon not be able to breathe the air of
St Malo. I cannot understand what has taken possession of my uncle to
leave our broad acres in Picardy for these wretched streets and bare,
gloomy walls."

"It is delightful, Marguerite, to hear you complaining. I have been
wondering how much longer we were to be kept cooped up here like
moulting falcons. I am not much given to grumbling, but I do long for a
breath of fresh air, and room to stretch my limbs without falling into a
mud-hole, or being nearly knocked over by a clumsy sailor or fisher-lad.
When we left Picardy I thought we were going to Fontainebleau; I never
dreamed we were about to exchange the sunny slopes of the Somme for
this!"

"No doubt," said Marguerite, with a little sigh, "my uncle has good
reasons for remaining here so long. You know his cherished schemes about
the New World."

"Yes, and I shall never forgive M. de Pontbriand for suggesting to him
that he should leave France. Now that we at last have peace, I was
beginning to hope that my warrior guardian would find time to take us to
Court, and let us see a little more of life and the gay world there. I
was tired of staying at home, I must confess, but since my experience of
these dreary stone walls I ask for nothing better than our fine broad
halls in Picardy. However, as you say, there is no use complaining. But
have you forgotten--you promised to tell me the whole story of your last
night's adventure. I have been patient, and asked no questions; but I am
dying of curiosity to hear how it all happened."

"There is very little to tell," answered Marguerite, with some
reluctance. "We were coming home in the moonlight, as you know, my uncle
and I, and as we crossed the Sillon my uncle stopped to say a word to a
sailor who gave him good-night as we