yebrows arched
demurely, innocently. There was something else she had to say to Jean.
She had never spoken to him of Marie-Louise--naturally. But she must
speak now. Marie-Louise, a peasant girl, a bare-footed fisherwoman, in
Paris as Jean's fiancee was perfectly impossible!

"Jean," she said ingenuously, "you know we took the cottage without
much formality as far as any definite length of time was concerned. Of
course we expected to stay longer, and if all this had not happened we
certainly should have done so. So, do you think, when we speak to
Marie-Louise about going, that she would be perfectly satisfied with a
month's rent? I told father I would ask you."

Jean's face clouded.

"You have not told Marie-Louise then that you are going to-morrow?" he
asked slowly.

"How could we--when we did not know ourselves until a little while
ago?" she answered.

"No; that is so," he said. Then, with a short, conscious laugh: "I
have not spoken to Marie-Louise myself."

"Of course you haven't!" she returned quickly, "And you have been wise."

"Wise?"--Jean looked at her, puzzled.

"Marie-Louise is not blind," said Myrna quietly. "It is far better
that she should have seen things for herself--and she could not help
seeing them during the last week."

"You mean?" Jean began--and stopped.

"You know what I mean, Jean," she said gravely. "That she must have
seen what everybody else sees--what you see yourself. That if she ever
had any idea of going to Paris with you, it is quite out of the
question. It is different now--everything is changed. You are not a
fisherman any longer; you have a great place to take in the world that
she cannot take beside you. A week in Paris and, even if neither of
you see it now, you would both see it only too bitterly and clearly
then. For both your sakes it is better settled now."

Jean was staring across the room to where, outside, the crowd was
packed densely in the road. Had he not thought of just those things
that she had been saying? Had he not thought of them all week? They
were true; but still there was Marie-Louise who--what was that? They
were cheering him there outside--it made his blood tingle, he felt the
mad elation of it, his soul seemed to leap out to meet the acclaim!

"But that is not all, Jean"--she was speaking again. "There is another
thing, something you owe to--oh, how shall I say it?--to your country,
and--" She stopped suddenly and caught his a