know you as if it were myself. I take the lesser of two evils." And
to his amazement, she said, "Send the girl up to me."

"If she will come."

"Come? Of course she will come." He shook his head and left her, but
before he was out of the room, her busy hands were again on the
embroidery-frame.

"No, I will not go," said Margaret when he delivered his message.

"For my sake, dear," said Rene, and at last, reluctant and still angry,
Margaret went up-stairs.

"Come in," said madame; "you have kept me waiting." The girl stood still
at the open door.

"Do not stand there, child. Come here and sit down."

"No," said Margaret, "I shall stand."

"As you please, Mademoiselle. My son has made up his mind to an act of
folly. I yield because I must. He is obstinate, as you will some day
discover to your cost. I cannot say I am satisfied, but as you are to be
my daughter, I shall say no more. You may kiss me. I shall feel better
about it in a few years, perhaps."

Never, I suppose, was Margaret's power of self-command more sorely
tried. She bent over, lifted the hand of the vicomtesse from the
embroidery, and kissed it, saying, "Thou art Rene's mother, Madame,"
and, turning, left the room.

Rene was impatiently walking in the hall when Margaret came down the
stair from this brief interview. She was flushed and still had in her
eyes the light of battle. "I have done as you desired. I cannot talk any
more. I have had all I can stand. No, I shall not kiss thee. My kisses
are spoilt for to-night." Then she laughed as she went up the broad
stairway, and, leaning over the rail, cried: "There will be two for
to-morrow. They will keep. Good night."

The vicomtesse she left was no better pleased, and knew that she had had
the worst of the skirmish.

"I hate it. I hate it," she said, "but that was well done of the maid.
Where did she get her fine ways?" She was aware, as Rene had said in
some wrath, that she could not insult these kind people and continue to
eat their bread. The dark lady with the wan, ascetic face, as of a saint
of many fasts, could abide poverty and accept bad diet, but nevertheless
did like very well the things which make life pleasant, and had been
more than comfortable amid the good fare and faultless cleanliness of
the Quaker house.

She quite well understood that the matter could not remain in the
position in which she had left it. She had given up too easily; but now
she must take the consequences. T