"Is that strange?" he asked, gently.

"Yes; I have often wished to cry. I never could--except once
before--and that was four days ago."

The day of their quarrel! He thrilled from head to foot, but
dared not speak.

"Four days ago," said Lorraine again. She thought of herself
gliding from her bed to seek the stable where Jack's horse stood,
she thought of her hot face pressed to the wounded creature's
neck. Then, suddenly aware of what she had confessed, she leaned
back and covered her face with her hands.

"Lorraine!" he whispered, brokenly.

But they were already at the Chateau.

"Lorraine, my child!" cried Madame de Morteyn, leaning from the
terrace. Her voice was drowned in the crash of drums rolling,
rolling, from the lawn below, and the trumpets broke out in harsh
chorus, shrill, discordant, terrible.

The Emperor had arrived at Morteyn.

XIV

THE MARQUIS MAKES HIMSELF AGREEABLE

The Emperor dined with the Vicomte and Madame de Morteyn that
evening in the great dining-room. The Chateau, patrolled by
doubled guards of the Cent Gardes, was surrounded by triple
hedges of bayonets and a perfect pest of police spies, secret
agents, and flunkys. In the breakfast-room General Frossard and
his staff were also dining; and up-stairs, in a small gilded
salon, Jack and Lorraine ate soberly, tenderly cared for by the
old house-keeper.

Outside they could hear the steady tramp of passing infantry
along the dark road, the clank of artillery, and the muffled
trample of cavalry. Frossard's Corps was moving rapidly, its back
to the Rhine.

"I saw the Prince Imperial," said Jack; "he was in the
conservatory, writing to his mother, the Empress. Have you ever
seen him, Mademoiselle de Nesville? He is young, really a mere
child, but he looks very manly in his uniform. He has that same
charm, that same delicate, winning courtesy that the Emperor is
famous for. But he looks so pale and tired--like a school-boy in
the Lycee."

"It would have been unfortunate if the Emperor had stopped at the
Chateau de Nesville," said Lorraine, sipping her small glass of
Moselle; "papa hates him."

"Many Royalists do."

"It is not that only; there is something else--something that I
don't know about. It concerns my brother who died many years ago,
before I was born. Have I never spoken of my brother? Has papa
never said anything?"

"No," said Jack, gently.

"Well, when my brother was alive, our family lived in Paris.