he must not let it come, that sadness, that yearning that
tried to make her falter and hold back. The way was very plain. If
she loved Jean, if she really loved him, she must not let that love do
anything but what would help him in his new, great life--she must cling
to that. It would not be love if she did anything else; it would only
mean that she loved herself more than she loved Jean.

"To be never afraid"--Uncle Gaston had taught her that, and the words
were on her lips now--"To be never afraid."

She was walking again now, for she had reached the village. Some one
called to her from a cottage door, and she called back cheerfully as
she passed on to the Bas Rhone, where Papa Fregeau was standing in the
doorway.

"_Tiens, petite_!" the fat little proprietor cried heartily. "But it
is good to see our little Marie-Louise! You do not come often these
days. They make you work too hard, those Americans, perhaps? But
to-day they are going--eh? Wait, I will call Lucille."

"Good morning, Jacques," she answered. "Yes; it is to-day that they
are going, so do not call Mother Fregeau, for there is a great deal to
do at the house and I must hurry back."

"Ah!" observed Papa Fregeau. "You have come then with a message?"

"Yes," she said hurriedly; "for Jean. Do you know where he is?"

"But, _la, la_!" chuckled Papa Fregeau. "But, yes; he is upstairs in
his room. But wait--I must tell you. I have just helped him carry it
up. It is a very grand American affair, and he is like a child with
it. It arrived from Marseilles last night after he had gone."

"What did?" inquired Marie-Louise patiently.

"What did!" ejaculated Papa Fregeau. "But did I not tell you? The
American trunk, _pardieu_! that he is to go away with, and--" The fat
little man grew suddenly confused. "_Tiens_!" he stammered. "He is
upstairs in his room, Marie-Louise. I am an old fool--eh--an old
fool!"--and he waddled away.

Why should it have hurt a little more because Jacques Fregeau had said
Jean was going away? And why should Jacques Fregeau have been able to
read it in her eyes? She was not so brave perhaps as she had thought.
And her heart was pounding now very quickly and so hard that it brought
pain, as she went up the stairs.

"_Mon Pere_"--her lips were whispering the same prayer over
again--"make me that--Jean's beacon now."

And then she was knocking at the door.

For an instant she hesitated, as his voice called to