etty sitting
like this, with just the suggestion of sadness in the listless pose.
Marguerite had come here to-day prepared to hate this young girl, who in
a few brief days had stolen not only Armand's heart, but his allegiance
to his chief, and his trust in him. Since last night, when she had seen
her brother sneak silently past her like a thief in the night, she had
nurtured thoughts of ill-will and anger against Jeanne.

But hatred and anger had melted at the sight of this child. Marguerite,
with the perfect understanding born of love itself, had soon realised
the charm which a woman like Mademoiselle Lange must of necessity
exercise over a chivalrous, enthusiastic nature like Armand's. The
sense of protection--the strongest perhaps that exists in a good man's
heart--would draw him irresistibly to this beautiful child, with the
great, appealing eyes, and the look of pathos that pervaded the entire
face. Marguerite, looking in silence on the--dainty picture before her,
found it in her heart to forgive Armand for disobeying his chief when
those eyes beckoned to him in a contrary direction.

How could he, how could any chivalrous man endure the thought of this
delicate, fresh flower lying crushed and drooping in the hands of
monsters who respected neither courage nor purity? And Armand had been
more than human, or mayhap less, if he had indeed consented to leave the
fate of the girl whom he had sworn to love and protect in other hands
than his own.

It seemed almost as if Jeanne was conscious of the fixity of
Marguerite's gaze, for though she did not turn to look at her, the flush
gradually deepened in her cheeks.

"Mademoiselle Lange," said Marguerite gently, "do you not feel that you
can trust me?"

She held out her two hands to the girl, and Jeanne slowly turned to her.
The next moment she was kneeling at Marguerite's feet, and kissing
the beautiful kind hands that had been stretched out to her with such
sisterly love.

"Indeed, indeed, I do trust you," she said, and looked with tear-dimmed
eyes in the pale face above her. "I have longed for some one in whom I
could confide. I have been so lonely lately, and Armand--"

With an impatient little gesture she brushed away the tears which had
gathered in her eyes.

"What has Armand been doing?" asked Marguerite with an encouraging
smile.

"Oh, nothing to grieve me!" replied the young girl eagerly, "for he
is kind and good, and chivalrous and noble. Oh, I love h