y life, my dear. But have a care. Do not make that life
more unhappy. Do not let your penitence, your devotion, your
self-abnegation, carry you too far. Listen; times are very
troublous abroad. The nations are banding against us--even France.
He who gives may take. Let me tell you, be careful. Do not
involve yourself. Do not jeopardize the good will of Louis
Napoleon. Do not let your warm heart endanger your own good
fortune."

She laughed almost gaily. "You suggest an idea, my General!" she
said. "I still am rich. Since I advocate a measure, why should I
not enforce it to the best of my ability? Let Louis Napoleon do as
he likes with the widow of a man he murdered! Bring over our
friend Louis Kossuth, General, as soon as you like! Meantime, I
shall be busy here, seeking to set on foot certain little plans of
my own."

"My child, you will be lost! Forget these matters. Come back with
us to our own country. You are young, you are beautiful. You are
a woman. As a patriot we love you, but you are a woman, and we
would not rob you of your life. You are young. You did not love
old St. Auban, who took you from your American mother. You did not
love him--but you will love some other--some young, strong man.
Many have sought your hand, my dear."

"You call me a lost child, General? Ah, you remember the term! At
many battles there is what is known as the forlorn hope--those whom
the French call _Les enfants perdus_--The Lost Children. Perhaps
they perish. But at the next battle, at the crucial time, they
rise again from the dead. Always there is the band of the Lost
Children, ready to do what must be done. And always, at the last
moment, are battles won by those who remain devoted, whatever be
the cause."

Zewlinski nodded his gray head gravely. "It was thus my own sons
died in battle," said he. "It was as I would have had it. But
you--you are a woman! These things are not for you."

"See," she interrupted, gently tapping his arm with her fan. "We
must not be too much apart. Let us return."

As they turned back toward the head of the line, Josephine gave a
half-exclamation. Two figures were approaching, each of which
seemed to her familiar. An instant later she had recognized the
young northern officer, Carlisle, whom she had met under such
singular conditions. With him stalked the tall young German,
Kammerer. Their eyes lighted suddenly, as they fell upon her, and
both advanced e