the Rhine."

"There will be--there shall be no invasion," she said,
feverishly. "France also ends at the Rhine; let them look to
their own!"

She moved impatiently, stepped from the stones to the damp
gravel, and walked slowly across the misty lawn. He followed,
leading the horses behind him and holding his telegram open in
his right hand. Presently she looked back over her shoulder, saw
him following, and waited.

"Why, will you go as war correspondent?" she asked when he came
up, leading the saddled horses.

"I don't know; I was on the _Herald_ staff in New York; they gave
me a roving commission, which I enjoyed so much that I resigned
and stayed in Paris. I had not dreamed that I should ever be
needed--I did not think of anything like this."

"Have you never seen war?"

"Nothing to speak of. I was the _Herald's_ representative at
Sadowa, and before that I saw some Kabyles shot in Oran. Where
are you going?"

"To the river. We can hear the carriage when it comes, and I want
to see the lights of the Chateau de Nesville."

"From the river? Can you?"

"Yes--the trees are cut away north of the boat-house. Look! I
told you so. My father is there alone."

Far away in the night the lights of the Chateau de Nesville
glimmered between the trees, smaller, paler, yellower than the
splendid stars that crowned the black vault above the forest.

After a silence she reached out her hand abruptly and took the
telegram from between his fingers. In the starlight she read it,
once, twice; then raised her head and smiled at him.

"Are you going?"

"I don't know. Yes."

"No," she said, and tore the telegram into bits.

One by one she tossed the pieces on to the bosom of the placid
Lisse, where they sailed away towards the Moselle like dim, blue
blossoms floating idly with the current.

"Are you angry?" she whispered.

He saw that she was trembling, and that her face had grown very
pale.

"What is the matter?" he asked, amazed.

"The matter--the matter is this: I--I--Lorraine de Nesville--am
afraid! I am afraid! It is fear--it is fear!"

"Fear?" he asked, gently.

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, it is fear! I cannot help it--I never
before knew it--that I--I could be afraid. Don't--don't leave
us--my father and me!" she cried, passionately. "We are so alone
there in the house--I fear the forest--I fear--"

She trembled violently; a wolf howled on the distant hill.

"I shall gallop back to the Chateau de Nesville