"Madame, it is because I am a fool," I said as I flung it out of
the door.

"It is strange," said she. "Your clothes--they are not your own;
they are as if they were hung up to dry. And you have a sabre and
spurs."

"Of that the less said the better," I answered, pulling out the
sabre. "Unless--unless, madame, you would like me to die young."

"Mon Dieu!" she whispered. "A Yankee soldier?"

"With good French blood in him," I added, "who was never so hungry
in all his life."

I went out of the door as I spoke, and shoved my sabre under the
house.

"I have a daughter on the other side of the lake," said she,
"married to a Yankee, and her husband is fighting the British with
the rest of you."

"God help him!" said I.

"Amen!" said she, bringing my food to the table. "The great
Napoleon he will teach them a lesson."

She was a widow, as she told me, living there alone with two young
daughters who were off at a picnic in the near town. We were
talking quietly when a familiar voice brought me standing.