of a tender expression in his mischievous eyes.

"Do white girls never wear roses in their hair? I thought
they did. Can it be wrong for me to wear mine in the same
place?"

"Ah, my little barbarian, you do not understand me. If
an old bachelor, whose head shone like the moon there in
the sky, were to give to some blithe young belle a rose
or a lily, she would, most likely, twist it in her hair;
but if some other hand had presented the flower, one
whose eye was brighter, whose step was quicker, whose
laugh was cheerier, whose years were fewer; in short, ma
chere Marie, if some one for whom she cared just a little
bit more than for any other man that walked over the face
of creation, had presented it to her, she would not put
it in her hair. No, my little unsophisticated one, she
would feel about with her unerring fingers, for the spot
nearest her heart, and there she would fasten the gift.
Now, ma Marie, suppose you had possessed all this
information this morning when I gave you the flower,
where would you have pinned it?"

"Nobody has ever done so much for me as has Monsieur.
He leaped into the flood, risking his life to save mine.
I would be an ungrateful girl, then, if I did not think
more of him than of any other man; therefore, I would
have pinned your flower on the spot nearest my heart,"
Then, deftly, and before he could determine what her
supple arms and nimble little brown fingers were about,