"But," said Father Anton anxiously, "but he will come back--to
Marie-Louise."

Henry Bliss's hand fell sympathetically upon the old priest's shoulder,
as he shook his head.

"I do not know," he said soberly. "Who can tell? It depends upon
Jean--and Marie-Louise. Frankly, I do not think he will come back, for
there is always the danger that the greater he becomes the greater will
become the distance between them--and Jean will unquestionably become a
national figure. But it is a vastly different thing with him than it
is with her. It is innate in him to take that place gracefully, even
as his genius is innate in him. To her, I am afraid, it would be an
impossible and an impracticable life. It is likely she would be
miserable to begin with and feel herself a drag upon him, for, we must
admit, she could not, as we say in America, hold up her end in his new
life. It is one of those tragedies of life, isn't it, that we cannot
shape one way or the other? It is something they alone must work out.
It is not a little matter, this future of Jean's. France has claimed
Jean, Monsieur le Cure, and it may well be, as Myrna here said a moment
ago, there is no place in his new life for Marie-Louise. I--"

They had passed on.

It seemed to Marie-Louise that she was very cold, that somehow she
could not move. There were three figures out there on the road walking
along. It was very strange that so ordinary a thing as that should be
taking place. She seemed to be numbed, to be waiting somehow for a
return to consciousness. Was that consciousness that was returning
now, was that it--this dull, monotonous pain? And that great choking
in her heart--what was that? She was standing erect, and words were
quivering on her lips.

"There is no place in his new life for Marie-Louise."

She was staring out before her; but the road, and, beyond it, the white
beach, and, beyond that again, the blue of the sea with the great
golden shaft of light from the setting sun upon it was gone--and there
was only nothingness. Only her lips moved.

"There is no place--in his new life--for Marie-Louise."

-- X --

A DAUGHTER OF FRANCE

How still the house was! Only once during the night had Marie-Louise
heard a sound as she had sat, dressed, by the window in the little
attic room. And that sound had been the whir of an automobile rushing
by on the road--it had been Jean returning from Marseilles. That was
while it was very d