thoughtfully. "I am only
weary of the life here. I should like to go away and be of some
use in the world. I suppose it is wicked, for my papa wishes me to
stay. And bah! it is a prison--a Hopital de Salpetriere!"

"Ma'm'selle," I exclaimed, "if you talk like that I shall take you
on my horse and fly with you. I shall come as your knight, as your
deliverer, some day."

"Alas!" said she, with a sigh, "you would find me very heavy. One
has nothing to do here but grow lazy and--ciel!--fat."

If my meeting with her sister had not made it impossible and
absurd, I should have offered my heart to this fair young lady then
and there. Now I could not make it seem the part of honor and
decency. I could not help adoring her simplicity, her frankness,
her beautiful form and face.

"It is no prison for me," I said. "I do not long for deliverance.
I cannot tell you how happy I have been to stay--how unhappy I
shall be to leave."

"Captain," she said quickly, "you are not strong; you are no
soldier yet."

"Yes; I must be off to the wars."

"And that suggests an idea," said she, thoughtfully, her chin upon
her hand.

"Which is?"

"That my wealth is ill-fortune," she went on, with a sigh. "Men
and women are fighting and toiling and bleeding and dying to make
the world better, and I--I am just a lady, fussing, primping,
peering into a looking-glass! I should like to do something, but
they think I am too good--too holy."

"But it is a hard business--the labors and quarrels of the great
world," I suggested.

"Well--it is God's business," she continued. "And am I not one of
his children, and 'wist ye not that I must be about my Father's
business?' It was not too good for the man who said that."

"But what would you do?"

"I do not know. I suppose I can do nothing because--alas! because
my father has bought my obedience with a million francs. Do you
not see that I am in bondage?"

"Be patient; the life of a rich demoiselle is not barren of
opportunity."

"To be gay--oh! one might as well be a peacock; to say pretty
things, one might better be a well-trained parrot; to grace the
court or the salon, I had as soon be a statue in the corner--it has
more comfort, more security; to be admired, to hear fine
compliments--well, you know that is the part of a pet poodle. I
say, captain, to be happy one must be free to do."

I looked into her big eyes, that were full of their new discovery.

"I should like to