e children again and go up to the edge of the forest and watch for
our enemies. They will be real enemies, this time; but even that we
may forget, perhaps."

She stood back a pace and laughed--yes, laughed--and gaily, albeit
with dewy eyes. Her hands went up as if she would have clapped them.
"Why, to be sure!" she cried. "Let us fetch Bateese at once!"

They passed out into the sunlight together, and she waited in the
courtyard while Dominique ran upstairs to fetch Bateese. In five
minutes' time the two brothers appeared together, Bateese with his
pockets enormously bulging--whereat Diane laughed again.

"So you have brought the larder, as ever. Bateese was always
prudent, and never relied on the game he killed in hunting.
You remember, Dominique?"

"He was always a poor shot, ma'amzelle," answered Dominique gravely.

"But this is not the larder!" Bateese began to explain with a queer
look at his brother.

"Eh?"

"Never mind explanations! Come along, all three!" cried Dominique,
and led the way. They passed out by the postern unobserved--for the
garrison was assembled in the lunette under the river wall--and
hurried toward the shade of the forest.

How well Diane remembered the old childish make-believe! How many
scores of times had they played it together, these three, in the
woods around Boisveyrac!--when Dominique and Bateese were bold
huntsmen, and she kept house for them, cooking their imaginary spoils
of the chase.

"We must have a fire!" she exclaimed, and hurried off to gather
sticks. But when she returned with the lap of her gown well filled,
a fire was already lit and blazing.

"How have you managed it so quickly?" she asked, and with that her
eyes fell on a scrap of ashes. "Where did you get this? You have
been lighting with paper, Bateese--and that is not playing fair!"

Bateese, very red in the face, stooped in the smoke and crammed
another handful upon the blaze.

"They were papers, ma'amzelle, upon which Dominique and I for a long
time could not agree. But now "--he turned to Dominique--"there is
no longer any quarrel between us. Eh, brother?"

"None, Bateese; none, if you forgive."

"What did I tell you?" cried Bateese triumphantly. "Did I not always
tell you that your heart would be lighter, with this shadow gone?
And there was never any shadow but this; none--none!"

"That is all very well," Diane remonstrated; "but you two have no
business to hide a secret from me t