"And will you please tell me," I said at length, "who are the
Misses de Lambert?"

"Daughters of a friend in Paris," said the count. "He is a great
physician. He wishes not for them to marry until they are
twenty-one. Mon Dieu! it was a matter of some difficulty. They
were beautiful."

"Very beautiful!" I echoed.

"They were admired," he went on. "The young men they began to make
trouble. My friend he send them here, with the baroness, to
study--to finish their education. It is healthy, it is quiet,
and--well, there are no young gentlemen. They go to bed early;
they are up at daylight; they have the horse; they have boats; they
amuse themselves ver' much. But they are impatient; they long for
Paris--the salon, the theatre, the opera. They are like prisoners:
they cannot make themselves to be contented. The baroness she has
her villa on a lake back in the woods, and, mon ame! it is
beautiful there--so still, so cool, so delightful! At present they
have a great fear of the British. They lie awake; they listen;
they expect to be carried off; they hear a sound in the night, and,
mon Dieu! it is the soldiers coming."

The count laughed, lifting his shoulders with a gesture of both
hands. Then he puffed thoughtfully at his cigarette.

"Indeed," he went on presently, "I think the invasion is not far
away. They tell me the woods in the north are alive with British
cavalry. I am not able to tell how many, but, Dieu! it is enough.