, with the moonlight full upon it now. It was beautiful, it was
glorious--but there was something more. There was something in the
face that seemed to stir a memory, a world of memories within her.
There was something familiar in the face--there seemed to be something
there that she recognised and yet could not define. She had seen that
face all her life--all her life. It belonged to every one that she had
ever known in Bernay-sur-Mer--and yet it belonged to no one at all that
she could name. But then--it was not finished yet. Perhaps when it
was finished she would know. It would be finished now in a few days
more, Hector had said; and he had said, too, that it would be the
greatest work Jean had ever done.

If she could only watch it until it was finished! If she could only do
that--afterwards she would go away. It was only for a little while
that she had come to Paris--only for a little while. If she could do
that! If she could come to-morrow night, and the nights after that
until it was all finished, just as she had come to-night! Yes,
yes--_yes_! Yes, she would come! She would watch it grow, and watch
so eagerly and so tensely the face that was so well-known yet so
elusive now!

"_La Fille du Regiment_!" Her hands cupping her chin, she sat there as
motionless, as silent as the statue itself; sat there absorbed,
unconscious of the passing time. It was strange the face should be
familiar! It was strange that there, too, had been something familiar
in the face of that figure in the park that Father Anton had taken her
to see, in the face of every other figure that the cure had pointed out
to her as Jean's work! She had gone back to look at them alone; but
they, although they were finished, had not answered her question, had
not told her who they were. But this one, this one was _almost_
telling her now--there was only to come a touch, just a touch from
Jean's hand--that would perhaps be there when she came to-morrow
night--and then she would know.

And so she sat there, and the hours passed, and the moonlight faded,
and the grey of dawn crept into the room--and Marie-Louise roused
herself with a start. And at first dismay was upon her. It was
morning--too late to go home! And then she shook her head, and smiled
happily--happily, because she had spent glad and happy hours, and there
was no need to be dismayed. Presently, she would go about her work--to
which she had come early, that was all. A