ell you now; such an
exciting time I've had--just like a story-book heroine."

"Penny novelette heroine," murmured Barbara, but her visitor was too
full of her adventure to notice the remark.

"As you know, I told Aunt Therese I should drown myself," she began
complacently; "but, of course, such was not my intention."

"Of course not," interpolated Barbara drily.

"Instead, I confided my plan to Aunt Marie, then slipped out into the
street, and thence to our friends next door."

"The widower's?" exclaimed the English girl in surprise.

"The very same. I explained to him my project for giving my aunt a
wholesome lesson; and he, with true chivalry, invited me to sup with
them--he saw I was spent with hunger."

Barbara, looking at the plump, rosy face of her companion, which had
assumed a tragic air, stifled a laugh, and the girl continued.

"I spent a pleasant time, and was just finishing my repast when the
bell rang. 'My aunt!' I cried. 'Hide me from her wrath, Monsieur.'
'The coal-cellar,' he replied, after a moment's stern thought. In one
second I had disappeared--I was no more--and when my aunt entered she
found him at supper with his sons. When she had gone I returned, and
we spent the evening cheerfully in mutual congratulation. At
nightfall, when we considered all was secure, Aunt Marie came into the
garden, placed a ladder against the wall, and I passed from one garden
into the other and regained our room securely. I think Aunt Therese
suspected nothing--Monsieur Dubois is such a beautiful deceiver."

"Well, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself," Barbara said
hotly. "Apart from the meanness and deceitfulness of it all, you have
behaved most childishly, and I shall always think less of Monsieur
Dubois for his untruthfulness."

"Untruthfulness!" Marie returned in an offended tone. "He acted most
chivalrously; but you English have such barbarous ideas about chivalry."

For a moment Barbara felt tempted to get up and shake the girl, then
came to the conclusion that it would be waste of time and energy to
argue with an individual whose ideas were so hopelessly dissimilar to
her own.

"I'm going to get up now," she said shortly. "I'll be glad if you
would go."

"But don't you want to know what we are going to do now?" queried
Marie, a little astonished that her companion should not show more
interest in such an exciting adventure. "Our campaign has only begun.
We will make Aunt Therese