h his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who
rescued French victims from beneath the very eyes of the leaders of a
bloodthirsty revolution?

Her thoughts were in a whirl--her mind a blank . . . She did not see
anything that was going on around her, and was quite startled when a
fresh young voice called to her across the garden.

"CHERIE!--CHERIE! where are you?" and little Suzanne, fresh as a
rosebud, with eyes dancing with glee, and brown curls fluttering in the
soft morning breeze, came running across the lawn.

"They told me you were in the garden," she went on prattling merrily,
and throwing herself with a pretty, girlish impulse into Marguerite's
arms, "so I ran out to give you a surprise. You did not expect me quite
so soon, did you, my darling little Margot CHERIE?"

Marguerite, who had hastily concealed the ring in the folds of her
kerchief, tried to respond gaily and unconcernedly to the young girl's
impulsiveness.

"Indeed, sweet one," she said with a smile, "it is delightful to have
you all to myself, and for a nice whole long day. . . . You won't be
bored?"

"Oh! bored! Margot, how CAN you say such a wicked thing. Why! when we
were in the dear old convent together, we were always happy when we were
allowed to be alone together."

"And to talk secrets."

The two young girls had linked their arms in one another's and began
wandering round the garden.

"Oh! how lovely your home is, Margot, darling," said little Suzanne,
enthusiastically, "and how happy you must be!"

"Aye, indeed! I ought to be happy--oughtn't I, sweet one?" said
Marguerite, with a wistful little sigh.

"How sadly you say it, CHERIE. . . . Ah, well, I suppose now that you
are a married woman you won't care to talk secrets with me any longer.
Oh! what lots and lots of secrets we used to have at school! Do you
remember?--some we did not even confide to Sister Theresa of the Holy
Angels--though she was such a dear."

"And now you have one all-important secret, eh, little one?" said
Marguerite, merrily, "which you are forthwith going to confide in me.
nay, you need not blush, CHERIE." she added, as she saw Suzanne's pretty
little face crimson with blushes. "Faith, there's naught to be ashamed
of! He is a noble and true man, and one to be proud of as a lover, and
. . . as a husband." "Indeed, CHERIE, I am not ashamed," rejoined
Suzanne, softly; "and it makes me very, very proud to hear you speak so
well of hi