gn to give that."

He forgot that he was not as he once had been. He forgot that he stood
but as a private of the French army before an aristocrat whose name he
had never heard.

She turned and looked at him, which she had never done before, so
absorbed had she been in the chessmen, and so little did a Chasseur
of the ranks pass into her thoughts. There was an extreme of surprise,
there was something of offense, and there was still more of coldness in
her glance; a proud languid, astonished coldness of regard, though
it softened slightly as she saw that he had spoken in all courtesy of
intent.

She bent her graceful, regal head.

"I thank you. Your very clever work can, of course, only be mine by
purchase."

And with that she laid aside the White King among his little troop of
ivory Arabs and floated onward with her friends. Cecil's face paled
slightly under the mellow tint left there by the desert sun and the
desert wind; he swept the chessmen into their walnut case and thrust
them out of sight under his knapsack. Then he stood motionless as a
sentinel, with the great leopard skins and Bedouin banners behind him,
casting a gloom that the gold points on his harness could scarcely break
in its heavy shadow, and never moved till the echo of the voices, and
the cloud of draperies, and the fragrance of perfumed laces, and the
brilliancy of the staff officers' uniforms had passed away, and left
the soldiers alone in their Chambre. Those careless cold words from
a woman's lips had cut him deeper than the stick could have cut him,
though it had bruised his loins and lashed his breast; they showed all
he had lost.

"What a fool I am still!" he thought, as he made his way out of the
barrack room. "I might have fairly forgotten by this time that I ever
had the rights of a gentleman."

So the carvings had won him one warm heart and one keen pang that day;
the vivandiere forgave, the aristocrat stung him, by means of those
snowy, fragile, artistic toys that he had shaped in lonely nights under
canvas by ruddy picket-fires, beneath the shade of wild fig trees, and
in the stir and color of Bedouin encampments.

"I must ask to be ordered out of the city," he thought, as he pushed his
way through the crowds of soldiers and civilians. "Here I get bitter,
restless, impatient; here the past is always touching me on the
shoulder; here I shall soon grow to regret, and to chafe, and to look
back like any pining woman. Out yonder t