Jeanne
and Armand, these two young people who but a moment ago had tentatively
lifted the veil of life, looked straight into each other's eyes and saw
the hand of death interposed between them: they looked straight into
each other's eyes and knew that nothing but the hand of death would part
them now. Love had come with its attendant, Sorrow; but he had come with
no uncertain footsteps. Jeanne looked on the man before her, and he bent
his head to imprint a glowing kiss upon her hand.

"Aunt Marie!"

It was Jeanne Lange who spoke, but her voice was no longer that of an
irresponsible child; it was firm, steady and hard. Though she spoke to
the old woman, she did not look at her; her luminous brown eyes rested
on the bowed head of Armand St. Just.

"Aunt Marie!" she repeated more peremptorily, for the old woman, with
her apron over her head, was still moaning, and unconscious of all save
an overmastering fear.

"Open, in the name of the people!" came in a loud harsh voice once more
from the other side of the front door.

"Aunt Marie, as you value your life and mine, pull yourself together,"
said Jeanne firmly.

"What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do?" moaned Madame Belhomme. But
she had dragged the apron away from her face, and was looking with some
puzzlement at meek, gentle little Jeanne, who had suddenly become so
strange, so dictatorial, all unlike her habitual somewhat diffident
self.

"You need not have the slightest fear, Aunt Marie, if you will only do
as I tell you," resumed Jeanne quietly; "if you give way to fear, we
are all of us undone. As you value your life and mine," she now repeated
authoritatively, "pull yourself together, and do as I tell you."

The girl's firmness, her perfect quietude had the desired effect. Madame
Belhomme, though still shaken up with sobs of terror, made a great
effort to master herself; she stood up, smoothed down her apron, passed
her hand over her ruffled hair, and said in a quaking voice:

"What do you think we had better do?"

"Go quietly to the door and open it."

"But--the soldiers--"

"If you do not open quietly they will force the door open within the
next two minutes," interposed Jeanne calmly. "Go quietly and open the
door. Try and hide your fears, grumble in an audible voice at being
interrupted in your cooking, and tell the soldiers at once that they
will find mademoiselle in the boudoir. Go, for God's sake!" she added,
whilst suppressed emotion suddenly