nything ungraceful. In her face I read an
immense astonishment; fascination seemed to rivet her eyes on me,
following my every movement as I shortened one stirrup for her,
tightened the girths, and laid the bridle in her half-opened hand.

Then, in silence, I led the horse forward through the open gate out
into the wet meadow.

Wading knee-deep through soaking foliage, I piloted my horse with its
mute burden across the fields; and, after a few minutes a violent
desire to laugh seized me and persisted, but I bit my lip and called
up a few remaining sentiments of decency.

As for my turkey-girl, she sat stiffly in the saddle, with a firmness
and determination that proved her to be a stranger to horses. I
scarcely dared look at her, so fearful was I of laughing.

As we emerged from the meadow I heard the cannon sounding again at a
great distance, and this perhaps sobered me, for presently all desire
of laughter left me, and I turned into the road which led through the
birch thicket, anxious to accomplish my mission and have done with it
as soon as might be.

"Are we near La Trappe?" I asked, respectfully.

Had she pouted, or sulked, or burst into reproaches, I should have
cared little--in fact, an outburst might have relieved me.

But she answered me so sweetly, and, too, with such composure, that my
heart smote me for what I had done to her and what I was still to do.

"Would you rather walk?" I asked, looking up at her.

"No, thank you," she said, serenely.

So we went on. The spectacle of a cavalryman in full uniform leading a
cavalry horse on which was seated an Alsatian girl in bright peasant
costume appeared to astonish the few people we passed. One of these
foot-farers, a priest who was travelling in our direction, raised his
pallid visage to meet my eyes. Then he stole a glance at the girl in
the saddle, and I saw a tint of faded color settle under his
transparent skin.

The turkey-girl saluted the priest with a bright smile.

"Fortune of war, father," she said, gayly. "Behold! Alsace in
chains."

"Is she a prisoner?" said the priest, turning directly on me. Of all
the masks called faces, never had I set eyes on such a deathly one,
nor on such pale eyes, all silvery surface without depth enough for a
spark of light to make them seem alive.

"What do you mean by a prisoner, father?" I asked.

"I mean a prisoner," he said, doggedly.

"When the church cross-examines the government, the towers of No