rstood, the world would blame her for if it knew, would call
culpable or foolishly heroic; but she smiled, because she understood
also that she had done that which her own conscience and heart approved,
and she was content.

At this time Laflamme was stealing watchfully through the tropical
scrub, where hanging vines tore his hands, and the sickening perfume
of jungle flowers overcame him more than the hard journey which he had
undergone during the past twelve hours.

Several times he had been within voice of his pursuers, and once a
Kanaka scout passed close to him. He had had nothing to eat, he had
had no sleep, he suffered from a wound in his neck caused by the broken
protruding branch of a tree; but he had courage, and he was struggling
for liberty--a tolerably sweet thing when one has it not. He found the
Cave at last, and with far greater ease than Carbourd had done, because
he knew the ground better, and his instinct was keener. His greeting to
Carbourd was nonchalantly cordial:

"Well, you see, comrade, King Ovi's Cave is a reality."

"So."

"I saw the boat. The horses? What do you know?"

"They will be at Point Assumption to-night."

"Then we go to-night. We shall have to run the chances of rifles along
the shore at a range something short, but we have done that before, at
the Barricades, eh, Carbourd?"

"At the Barricades. It is a pity that we cannot take Citizen Louise
Michel with us."

"Her time will come."

"She has no children crying and starving at home like--"

"Like yours, Carbourd, like yours. Well, I am starving here. Give me
something to eat.... Ah, that is good--excellent! What more can we want
but freedom! Till the darkness of tyranny be overpast--overpast, eh?"

This speech brought another weighty matter to Carbourd's mind. He said:

"I do not wish to distress you, but--"

"Now, Carbourd, what is the matter? Faugh! this place smells musty.
What's that--a tomb? Speak out, Citizen Carbourd."

"It is this: Mademoiselle Wyndham is blind." Carbourd told the story
with a great anxiety in his words.

"The poor mademoiselle--is it so? A thousand pities! So kind, so
young, so beautiful. Ah, I am distressed, and I finished her portrait
yesterday! Yes, I remember her eyes looked too bright, and then again
too dull: but I thought that it was excitement, and so--that!"

Laflamme's regret was real enough up to a certain point, but, in
sincerity and value, it was chasms below that of Hugh Tr