re the doves rose hurriedly. The Marshal discovered the
archbishop's valet making toward him.

"Monsieur the Marshal, Monseigneur breakfasts and requests you to join
him."

"Immediately;" and the Marshal rose. He placed his hand on the dark
head. "Keep up your heart, my child," he said, "and we shall see if I
have grown too old for service." He squared his shoulders and followed
the valet, who viewed the scene with a valet's usual nonchalance. When
the Marshal reached the steps to the side entrance, he looked back. The
dog had taken his place, and the girl had buried her face in his neck. A
moment later the old soldier was ushered into the archbishop's presence,
but neither with fear nor uneasiness in his heart.

"Ah! Good morning, Marshal," said the prelate. "Be seated. Did you not
find it chilly in the gardens?"

"Not the least. It is a fine day. I have just left her Royal Highness."

The prelate arched his eyebrows, and an interrogation shot out from
under them.

"Yes," answered the observant soldier. "My heart has ever been hers;
this time it is my hand and brain."

The prelate's egg spoon remained poised in mid-air; then it dropped with
a clatter into the cup! But a moment gone he had held a sword in his
hand; he was disarmed.

"I have promised to stand and fall with her."

"Stand and fall? Why not 'or'?" with a long, steadfast gaze.

"Did I say 'and'? Well, then," stolidly, "perhaps that is the word I
meant to use. If I do the one I shall certainly do the other."

The archbishop absently stirred his eggs.

"God is witness," said the Marshal, "I have always been honest."

"Yes."

"And neutral."

"Yes; honest and neutral."

"But a man, a lonely man like myself, can not always master the impulses
of the heart; and I have surrendered to mine."

The listener turned to some documents which lay beside the cup, and
idly fingered them. "I am glad; I am very glad. I have always
secretly admired you; and to tell the truth, I have feared you most of
all--because you are honest."

The Marshal shifted his saber around and drew his knees together.
"I return the compliment," frankly. "I have never feared you; I have
distrusted you."

"And why distrusted?"

"Because Leopold of Osia would never have forsaken his birthright, nor
looked toward a throne, had you not pointed the way and coveted the
archbishopric."

"I wished only to make him great;" but the prelate lowered his eyes.

"And share his greatne