t of us she
opened the door and stepped out on the tiny porch.

"Why, this is our little Jacqueline," she said, quickly. "They have
taken your father for the conscription, have they not, my child? And
now you are homeless!"

"I think so, madame."

"Then you will stay with me until he returns, won't you, little
one?"

There was a moment's pause; Jacqueline made a grave gesture. "This is
my cat, madame--Ange Pitou."

The countess stared at the cat, then broke out into the prettiest peal
of laughter. "Of course you must bring your cat! My invitation is
also for Ange Pitou, you understand."

"Then we thank you, and permit ourselves to accept, madame," said
Jacqueline. "We are very glad because we are quite hungry, and we
have thorns from the gorse in our feet--" She broke off with a joyous
little cry: "There is Speed!" And Speed, entering the garden
hurriedly, stopped short in his tracks.

The child ran to him and threw both arms around his neck. "Oh, Speed!
Speed!" she stammered, over and over again. "I was too lonely; I will
do what you wish; I will be instructed in the graces of
education--truly I will. I am glad to come back--and I am so tired,
Speed. I will never go away from you again.... Oh, Speed, I am
contented!... Do you love me?"

"Dearly, little sweetheart," he said, huskily, trying to steady his
voice. "There! Madame the countess is waiting. All will be well now."
He turned, smiling, toward the young countess, and lifted his hat,
then stepped back and fixed me with a blank look of dismay, which said
perfectly plainly that he had unpleasant news to communicate. The
countess, I think, saw that look, too, for she gave me an almost
imperceptible nod and took Jacqueline's hand in hers.

"If there are thorns in your feet we must find them," she said,
sweetly. "Will you come, Jacqueline?"

"Yes, madame," said the child, with an adoring smile at Speed, who
bent and kissed her upturned face as she passed.

They went into the house, the countess holding Jacqueline's
thorn-scratched hand, the cat following, perfectly self-possessed, to
the porch, where she halted and sat down, surveying the landscape with
dignified indifference.

"Well," said I, turning to Speed, "what new deviltry is going on in
Paradise now?"

"Preparations for train-wrecking, I should say," he replied, bluntly.
"They are tinkering with the trestle. Buckhurst's ragamuffins have
just seized the railroad station at Rose-Sainte-Anne, whe