"No," said she, in a voice that trembled. "I am thinking--I am
thinking of somebody else."

The words, spoken so slowly, so sweetly, seemed, nevertheless, to
fly at me. "Of somebody else!" Whom could she mean? Had her
sister told her? Did she know of my meeting with Louison? I was
about to confess how deeply, how tenderly, I loved her. I had
spoken the first word when this thought flashed upon me, and I
halted. I could not go on.

"Ma'm'selle," I said, "I--I--if it is I of whom you are thinking,
give me only your pity, and I can be content. Sometime, perhaps, I
may deserve more. If I can be of any service to you, send for
me--command me. You shall see I am not ungrateful. Ah,
ma'm'selle," I continued, as I stood to my full height, and felt a
mighty uplift in my heart that seemed to toss the words out of me,
"I have a strong arm and a good sword, and the love of honor and
fair women."

She wiped her eyes, and turned and looked up at me. I was no
longer a sick soldier.

"It is like a beautiful story," she said thoughtfully; "and
you--you are like a knight of old. We must go home. It is long
past luncheon hour. We must hurry."

She gave me her arm up the hill, and we walked without speaking.

"I am very well to-day," I remarked as we came to the road. "If
you will wait here until I get to the big birch, I shall go around