eye--they could not see for tears and did not care anyhow, so long as it
was a bit of Joyce. Till, flinging her arms about them all, she broke
out into a sudden passionate, "Oh, dear people! _My_ people! Let's cling
together. I've nobody in all the world but you!" At which heart-breaking
cry the mother quickly responded,

"Why, child, you are a part of us. We have had you always when we could.
Do you suppose we would ever let you go?"

So Joyce turned her giving into begging, and in assuring her of the love
and loyalty she longed for, all forgot their words of thanks till Larry
said whimsically, "I'm afraid things are getting a little mixed here,
and I'm not quite certain, now, whether we're to be grateful to Joyce
for a beautiful home, or she to us for deigning to live beside her."

This set Camille off into a near approach to hysterics, and let them all
gently down to earth once more.

Presently the Madame began in her tender voice, which could never seem
to interrupt,

"We haven't told our news yet, Joyce. It pales a little before your
grand tidings, but I think it will interest you still. Leon has been
promoted."

Joyce turned quickly, her face all aglow, her eyes like stars.

"Oh, is it true? Then he is first lieutenant?"

"Yes, with special work in the engineering department, and such kind
words from his higher officers in their congratulations! We had thought
our cup of joy quite full when you came in; now it has overflowed."

"And mother was telling all about you and Leon when you were little,"
put in Camille in so oblivious a tone that Larry, catching some fun in
the situation, laughed outright.

"What a giggler you are, Larry! Just like a school-boy," admonished the
gypsy-maid, frowning at him. "What she said about their childish
devotion was very touching, I thought, and not at all funny."

Even Madame Bonnivel joined in his hearty laugh, now, and poor Joyce, to
hide her burning cheeks, broke out,

"Come, Camille, where's your mandolin? I haven't heard you play for an
age. 'Do let's play and be cheerful!'"

"Just what Leon always used to say! All right, I'll give you my last
serenade; it's awfully sweet. Turn down the lights, Larry. Now, you must
all imagine you are on the water in Venice, and that I'm stealing by in
my gondola to call up my lady, love from sleep. She's up in the
tower-room of that dingy old castle yonder. Hus-sh all!"

They were silent in the dim room, but Joyce's heart was