ed to each other, ready to begin
another day of perfect contentment.

First of all he asked about her shoulder, and she told him
truthfully that it was well. Then she inquired about the old
vicomte and Madame de Morteyn, and intrusted pretty little
messages to him for them, which he, unlike most young men,
usually remembered to deliver.

"My father," she said, "has not been to breakfast or dinner since
the day before yesterday. I should have been alarmed, but I
listened at the door and heard him moving about with his
machinery. I sent him some very nice things to eat; I don't know
if he liked them, for he sent no message back. Do you suppose he
is hungry?"

"No," said Jack; "if he were he would say so." He was careful not
to speak bitterly, and she noticed nothing.

"I believe," she said, "that he is about to make another
ascension. He often stays a long time in his room, alone, before
he is ready. Will it not be delightful? I shall perhaps be
permitted to go up with him. Don't you wish you might go with
us?"

"Yes," said Jack, with a little more earnestness than he
intended.

"Oh! you do? If you are very good, perhaps--perhaps--but I dare
not promise. If it were my balloon I would take you."

"Would you--really?"

"Of course--you know it. But it isn't my balloon, you know."
After a moment she went on: "I have been thinking all day how
noble and good it is of my father to consecrate his life to a
purpose that shall be of use to France. He has not said so, but I
know that, if the next ascension proves that his discovery is
beyond the chance of failure, he will notify the government and
place his invention at their disposal. Monsieur Marche, when I
think of his unselfish nobleness, the tears come--I cannot help
it."

"You, too, are noble," said Jack, resentfully.

"I? Oh, if you knew! I--I am actually wicked! Would you believe
it, I sometimes think and think and wish that my father could
spend more time with me--with me!--a most silly and thoughtless
girl who would sacrifice the welfare of France to her own
caprice. Think of it! I pray--very often--that I may learn to be
unselfish; but I must be very bad, for I often cry myself to
sleep. Is it not wicked?"

"Very," said Jack, but his smile faded and there was a catch in
his voice.

"You see," she said, with a gesture of despair, "even you feel
it, too!"

"Do you really wish to know what I do think--of you?" he asked,
in a low voice.

It was on the