long windows. As the
young girl came forward, however, he recognized her in spite of her
extreme pallor and the change which two years and a half had wrought.
Concealing, as best he could, the shock of surprise and the sudden
faintness which attacked him at her unexpected presence (for he was
still very weak and ill), he bowed low and placed a chair for her. But
she shook her head and remained standing beside a little table in the
centre of the room, one hand resting upon it for support. She was so
agitated, and so fearful lest Calvert should notice it and guess its
true cause, that she summoned all her pride and old imperiousness to her
aid. Looking at her so, he wondered how it was that Mr. Morris had found
her so softened. Looking at him so, weak and ill and hurt for one she
loved, she could have thrown herself at his feet and kissed his wounded
arm. It was with difficulty she commanded her voice sufficiently to
speak.

"I am come, Mr. Calvert," she said, at length, hurriedly, and in so
constrained a tone that he could scarcely hear her, "I am come on an
errand for which the sole excuse is your own nobility. Had you not
already risked your life for my brother, I could not dare to ask this
still greater sacrifice. Indeed, I think I cannot, as it is," she said,
clasping her hands and suddenly turning away.

Calvert was inexpressibly surprised by this exhibition of deep emotion
in her. He had never seen her so moved before. "There is nothing I would
not do for d'Azay, believe me," he said, earnestly. "I had hoped to
avert this danger from him, but, unfortunately, I fear I have only
postponed it. Is there anything I can do? If so, tell me what it is."

"It is nothing less than the sacrifice of your whole life," she said, in
a low tone, and drawing back in the shadow of one of the windows. "It is
this--I am come to ask you to marry me, Mr. Calvert, that by becoming an
American subject I may save my brother. We--we have just been to obtain
a passport for him to leave the city--he is to be accused in the
Assembly to-morrow," she says, rapidly and breathlessly. "A passport for
Monsieur d'Azay is refused unconditionally, but one is promised for the
brother of Madame Calvert, the American." She was no longer pale. A
burning blush was dyeing her whole face crimson, and she drew still
farther back into the shadow of the window. She laid one hand on the
velvet curtain to steady herself.

Calvert gazed at her in unspeakable su