"I would that I could give you into your father's charge first, for I
fear to leave you alone when these troopers may come. And yet no excuse
will avail me if I am not at Versailles. But see, a horseman has
stopped before the door. He is not in uniform. Perhaps he is a
messenger from your father."

The girl ran eagerly to the window, and peered out, with her hand
resting upon her cousin's silver-corded shoulder.

"Ah!" she cried, "I had forgotten. It is the man from America.
Father said that he would come to-day."

"The man from America!" repeated the soldier, in a tone of surprise, and
they both craned their necks from the window. The horseman, a sturdy,
broad-shouldered young man, clean-shaven and crop-haired, turned his
long, swarthy face and his bold features in their direction as he ran
his eyes over the front of the house. He had a soft-brimmed gray hat
of a shape which was strange to Parisian eyes, but his sombre clothes
and high boots were such as any citizen might have worn. Yet his
general appearance was so unusual that a group of townsfolk had already
assembled round him, staring with open mouth at his horse and himself.
A battered gun with an extremely long barrel was fastened by the stock
to his stirrup, while the muzzle stuck up into the air behind him.
At each holster was a large dangling black bag, and a gaily coloured
red-slashed blanket was rolled up at the back of his saddle. His horse,
a strong-limbed dapple-gray, all shiny with sweat above, and all caked
with mud beneath, bent its fore knees as it stood, as though it were
overspent. The rider, however, having satisfied himself as to the
house, sprang lightly out of his saddle, and disengaging his gun, his