en, hand in hand, mute with the eloquence
which comes from boundless love. They were under a spell, forgetting
even that they lived, knowing nothing except that they loved.

The lamp broke the spell, and Aunt Marie's still trembling voice:

"Oh, my dear! how did you manage to rid yourself of those brutes?"

But she asked no other question, even when the lamp showed up quite
clearly the glowing cheeks of Jeanne and the ardent eyes of Armand. In
her heart, long since atrophied, there were a few memories, carefully
put away in a secret cell, and those memories caused the old woman to
understand.

Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been
broken, but the dream lingered on; they did not see Aunt Marie putting
the room tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door.

But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition. After
Armand had asked for the hundredth time: "Tu m'aimes?" and Jeanne for
the hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, her fears for him
suddenly returned.

Something had awakened her from her trance--a heavy footstep, mayhap, in
the street below, the distant roll of a drum, or only the clash of steel
saucepans in Aunt Marie's kitchen. But suddenly Jeanne was alert, and
with her alertness came terror for the beloved.

"Your life," she said--for he had called her his life just then, "your
life--and I was forgetting that it is still in danger... your dear, your
precious life!"

"Doubly dear now," he replied, "since I owe it to you."

"Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sake--make all
haste to leave Paris... oh, this I beg of you!" she continued more
earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; "every hour you spend
in it brings danger nearer to your door."

"I could not leave Paris while you are here."

"But I am safe here," she urged; "quite, quite safe, I assure you. I am
only a poor actress, and the Government takes no heed of us mimes.
Men must be amused, even between the intervals of killing one another.
Indeed, indeed, I should be far safer here now, waiting quietly for
awhile, while you make preparations to go... My hasty departure at this
moment would bring disaster on us both."

There was logic in what she said. And yet how could he leave her? now
that he had found this perfect woman--this realisation of his highest
ideals, how could he go and leave her in this awful Paris, with brutes
like Heron forcing their hideous pers