loved her before her departure would gladly have welcomed her
back; but she shunned all society. Never again could she mingle in the
world of Paris. She accepted the invitation of an old and dearly-loved
companion, and went to stay at a villa on the banks of the Seine.

Here, after a time, La Pommeraye ventured to visit her. As the weeks
went by, the beautiful air of her native land, the constant
companionship of friends, the return of health and strength, had begun
to restore to her something of her lost youth; though the old vivacity
was for ever gone. She welcomed La Pommeraye with more cheerfulness and
freedom than he had dared to expect; and gradually he began to think
that distance from the scene of her sorrows, and the removal of her
uncle--the cause of all her suffering--were making her feel the past
less keenly. In spite of his conviction that she would never love him,
he almost began to hope. The old yearning pain which had never died
stirred at his heart more uncontrollably than ever. He struggled
manfully to show no signs of it, fearing lest he should lose even the
joy of seeing her, but daily he threw himself in Marguerite's way, and
daily he could not but feel that he was growing more necessary to her.

And, indeed, to the lonely and saddened woman, his companionship was an
unspeakable comfort. The steadfast, broad-shouldered, handsome giant had
saved her from untold horrors, he had proved his devotion to her at a
cost which might well have appalled the bravest. She knew that whatever
might happen to her, his strong arm was ready to shield her from evil
for the rest of her life. Alone in the world as she was, she clung to
him as her best and truest friend; she loved him indeed, with all the
strength that was left her, though not in the way for which he longed.
Her woman's eye saw through the restraint he put upon himself; she knew
that his heart was unalterably hers, and that, sooner or later, some day
he would speak. She dreaded the inevitable parting, and sought to defer
it by every means in her power.

It came sooner than she expected. A period of comparative peace had
given La Pommeraye's sword an unwonted rest, but hostilities were once
more commenced, and he could not remain idle. His post was on the field,
but he was unable to go till he had learned from Marguerite's own lips
whether life still held a chance of happiness for him.

He was in Paris when the news came. After a few hurried preparatio