ew days, she commanded him with a playful authority,
and talked a great deal of nonsense, much as she would have talked with
any acquaintance for whom she felt but a passing interest. But it was
impossible to continue in this strain with Raoul. He treated her as a
reasoning being, and not as a creature fit merely to be humoured and
flattered. Despite herself she began to speak from her heart and without
any constraint. But she adhered honourably to her decision not to
inspire him with a grande passion, and to this end she conducted herself
with a simple propriety which recalled to her mind the convent
discipline of the gentle Ursuline Sisters, who had taught her her first
lessons.

Each day her respect for Raoul increased, as closer acquaintance
revealed his character. Finally, her respect became reverence. His
nature stood out in such strong contrast with the even, easy-going,
selfish natures of the others with whom she came into contact. He was
unlike them. He thought about life, they merely lived it. He seemed to
her to be superior to the common pains and pleasures of the world. She
could not imagine him being swayed by circumstances, by petty likes and
dislikes. She felt that it would be easy to bear any trouble with such a
friend near. His strong will attracted her. His impenetrable reserve and
the strange, stern mood that came over him at times mystified and almost
frightened her.

One day, on the Boulevard, they met the troops marching with quick step
into the town. She thought that he tried, involuntarily, to straighten
his shoulders as the stalwart figures passed. She seemed to know how the
sight of them must sadden him, and her heart became filled with an
inexpressible pity. But when he spoke, there was not the least tinge of
dissatisfaction in his voice.

"I admire their happy nonchalance," he said. "Unconsciously they are
very good philosophers. They take life as it comes to them and gauge it
at its true value."

"Yes," she said; "they are happy enough now. But it must be terrible in
war-time, to have to march straight to death."

"Do you think so?" he replied. "I doubt whether they perceive the terror
of it. It is part of their business to die."

"Do you not fear death?" she asked him afterwards.

He was silent for a moment. Then he said slowly: "I can quite imagine
circumstances in which death would be preferable to life."

"It is because life has been so unjust to him that he disdains it," she
t