she could disconcert a graven image.

"But, Madame," said my master lamely, "we shall be running great
risks; we have a fight on our hands at this moment; for we shall not
be allowed to depart in peace."

"No Kirkpatrick has ever yet avoided a fight," replied Madame Riano,
firmly. "Life with us was ever a battle."

"But, Madame, it is not only a fight but a flight, I am looking for."

"Well, the Kirkpatricks were ever better at fighting than running
away, but I will agree to stand my ground, so as to give you a chance
to run!"

This she said to Count Saxe, the greatest warrior in the world! And
she looked like Bellona as she spoke.

"The Russian officer allowed me to speak with you," she continued,
"upon my promise to return; so I must go back, but only for a moment.
I will have the traveling chaise brought here, but, if need be, both
my niece and myself can ride a-horseback."

With that, she turned back, and walked across the drawbridge, Count
Saxe accompanying her to the middle of it, where the Russian officer
met her, and escorted her to where the chaise still stood.

Meanwhile, Francezka and Gaston had withdrawn into the shadow of the
courtyard wall, where Gaston continued to whisper in her ear. Count
Saxe, however, speaking to me by name, Francezka glanced up, and
instantly coming toward me, laid her hand on my arm.

"This is my good friend Babache," she said, smiling into my face.

"Yes, Mademoiselle," I answered, "this is your good friend Babache."

I saw her face plainly by the light of the lantern swinging overhead.
She was handsomer than she had been the year before, her features
having lost the sharp outline of immaturity; her eyes were wells of
light, her eloquent red mouth wore a charming smile; the child had
become a woman.

"It seems my destiny always to trouble you," she said, smiling, and
yet blushing a little; for her pride was offended at being thus thrown
upon us, as it were.

I replied as well as I could, and then we heard Madame Riano's voice
raised on the other side of the drawbridge. She was giving the Russian
officer the worst rating in her repertoire. Everything Russian, from
their religion to their cookery, she heaped anathema on, when,
suddenly, this farce became a tragedy. The Russians closed about her;
her voice ran high, and then suddenly stopped as if she had been
gagged. We saw her thrust into the chaise; a Russian soldier jumped
on the box, and it rattled off.

And, at