onour. Well, when Armand and I were children, we
played with the two Guyon boys. Their father, Bonhomme Guyon, was
only my father's farmer; but in a lonely place like Boisveyrac, and
with no one to instruct us in difference of rank and birth--for my
mother died when I was a baby--"

"I understand, mademoiselle."

"And so we played about the farm, as children will. But by and by,
and a short while before I left Boisveyrac to go to school with the
Ursulines, Dominique began to be--what shall I say? He was very
tiresome."

She paused. "I understand," repeated John quietly. "At first I did
not guess what he meant. And the others, of course, did not guess.
But he was furiously jealous, even of his brother, poor Bateese. And
when Bateese met with his accident--"

"One moment, mademoiselle. When Bateese fell between the logs, was
it because Dominique had pushed him?"

She wrung her hands as in a sudden fright. "You guessed that?
How did you guess? No one knows it but I, and Father Launoy, no
doubt, and perhaps Father Joly. But Dominique knows that _I_ know;
and his misery seems to give him some hold over me."

"In what way can I help you, mademoiselle?"

"Did I ask you to help me?" She had resumed her seat on the
gun-carriage and, drawing Sergeant Barboux's tunic off its gun,
began with her embroidery scissors to snip at the shanks of its
breast-buttons. His cheeks were burning now; she spoke with a
trained accent of levity. "I called you, monsieur, to say that I
cannot, of course, copy these buttons, and to ask if you consent to
my using them on your new tunic, or if you prefer to put up with
plain ones. But it appears that I have wandered to some distance
from my question." She attempted a laugh; which, however, failed
dolefully.

"Decidedly I prefer any buttons to those. But, excuse me," persisted
John, drawing nearer, "though you asked for no help and need none,
yet I will not believe you have honoured me so far with your
confidence and all without purpose."

"Oh," she replied, still in the same tone of hard, almost
contemptuous, levity. "I had a whim, monsieur, to be understood by
you, that is all; and perhaps to rebuke you by contrast for telling
us so little of yourself. It is as Felicite said--you messieurs of
the army keep yourselves well padded over the heart. See here--"
She began to dig with her scissor-point and lay bare the quilting
within Barboux's tunic; but presently stopped,