not
good republicans," he jested.

"I have called them after your great leaders--but they do not always
answer to their names," Rosette assured him seriously.

"Then they are only worthy to be executed. Your knife, comrade," cried
one of the men, jumping to his feet. "What, more of them! Six, seven,
eight," he counted, as the sheep came through the gap. "Why, 'twill be
quite a massacre of traitors."

"Oh, please! you cannot eat them all! Leave me some, that I may drive
back with me, else my master will beat me!" implored Rosette, beginning
to fear that her chances of passing towards the far distant village were
lessening.

"Your master! Who is your master?"

"He is a farmer down there," nodding vaguely as she spoke.

"Hark you! Have you by any chance seen a man bigger than the average
skulking thereabouts?"

She shook her head. "There are few big men round here--none so fine as
you!" she said prettily.

The man gave a proud laugh. "Ah! we of Paris are a fine race."

Rosette nodded. "My Master is a good republican. You will let me take
him back the sheep," she coaxed.

"Why, those that remain," the soldier replied, with a grin. "Sho! sho!
Those that run you can follow. Ah, behold!" Rosette needed no second
bidding, but started after the remnant of her little troop.

"He!" called one of the soldiers to his comrades--and the wind bore the
words to Rosette--"you are fools to let that child pass! For aught we
know, she may be spying for the rebels."

As the men stared after her irresolute, Rosette slackened her pace,
flung up her head, and in her clear childish treble began to sing that
ferocious chant, then at the height of its popularity, which is now the
national hymn of France. So singing, she walked steadily down the long
road, hopeful that she might yet save the man who was a father to her.

* * * * *

It was almost dusk outside the desolate, half-ruined chateau of La
Plastiere. Within its walls the shadows of night were already thickly
gathered--shadows so dark that a man might have lurked unseen in them.
Some such thought came to Rosette as she stood hesitating in the great
hall. How silent the place was! The only noises came from without--the
wind sobbing strangely in the garden, the ghostly rustling of the
leaves, the moan of the dark, swift river. Ah! there was something
moving in the great hall! What was it? A rat dashed by, close to
Rosette's feet; then the hall