ugged their supple shoulders at his simple
talk. They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had had a
thousand chances and had never taken them. He was not even rich, and he
had handled great sums of money. He was only a General, and he had slept
in the Emperor's tent--had had access to him in every humour. He might
do the same again in the coming campaign. He was worth cultivating. De
Casimir and his like were full of smiles which in no wise deceived the
shrewd Alsatian.

Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant warriors
paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was aware that her
measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He knew, at all events,
that he could hold his own amid these adventurers, many of whom had
risen from the ranks; while others, from remote northern States, had
birth but no manners at all. He was easy and gay, carrying lightly that
subtle air of distinction which is vouchsafed to many Poles.

"Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow," he said. "All these
eager soldiers. And who can tell which of us may return?"

If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his calling,
he was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She had had so few
chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing close at hand the
greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the sun its rays. She was
carried away by the spirit of the age. Anything was better, she felt,
than obscurity.

"And who can tell," whispered de Casimir with a careless and confident
laugh, "which of us shall come back rich and great?"

This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay
waiting. She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress of
that day with assurance and grace. She possessed something which the
German ladies about her lacked; something which many suddenly lack when
a Frenchwoman is near.

His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an understanding
to which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed some favour upon
him--had acceded to some request. He hoped for more. He had overstepped
some barrier. She, who should have measured the distance, had allowed
him to come too close. The barriers of love are one-sided; there is no
climbing back.

"A hundred envious eyes are watching me," he said in an undertone as he
passed on; "I dare not stay longer. I am on duty to-night."

She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, awar