te was not.

Ermentrude had besides, what even without beauty would have made her
conspicuous to the eye, the figure of a goddess and the air of a queen.
But Antoinette was small and had to feel secure and in a happy mood to
show the excellence of her mind and the airy quality of her wit.

Then, Ermentrude had money and could dress, while Antoinette, who was
dependent upon an English uncle for everything she possessed, wore
clothes so plain that but for their exquisite neatness, one would never
dream that she came from French ancestry, and that ancestry noble.

Yes, she had that advantage; rank was hers, but not the graces which
should accompany it. More than that, she had nothing with which to
support it. Better be of the yeoman class like Ermentrude, and smile like
a duchess granting favors. Or so she thought, poor girl, as her meek
regard passed from the friend whose attractions she had thus acknowledged
to the man whose approbation would make a goddess of her too.

He was coming--not with his usual indifferent swing, but eagerly,
joyously, as though this moment meant something to him too. She knew it
did. Small memories rushing upon her, made no doubt of that. But why?
Because of Ermentrude or because of herself? Alas! she could recall
nothing which would answer that. They were much together; he had scarcely
ever seen them separate. It might be either----Hardly alive from
suspense, she watched him coming--coming. In a moment he would be upon
them. On which would his eyes linger?

That would tell the tale.

In an anguish of ungovernable shyness, she slipped behind the ample
figure of her friend till only her fluttering skirt betrayed her
presence. Perhaps she was saved something by this move; perhaps not.
She did not see the beam of joy sparkling in his eye as he greeted
Ermentrude; but she could not but mark the heaviness of his step as he
passed them by and wandered away into the shadows.

And that she understood. Ermentrude had not smiled upon him. To him, the
moment had brought pain.

It was enough. Now she knew.

But why had not Ermentrude smiled?

* * * * *

A dormitory lighted only by the moon! Two beds close together; in one a
form of noble proportions, and in the other the meagre figure of a girl
almost buried from sight among pillows and huddled-up blankets. Both are
quiet save for an occasional shudder which shakes the bed of the latter.
Ermentrude lies like the