Rossignol, "tipped with angel-finger feathers! Oh, Madame Marie, my
heart's blood would run out of his quills!"

"It is a serious breach in the discipline of this fortress for even you
to disobey me constantly," said the lady, again severely, though she
knew her lecture was wasted on the human brownie.

Le Rossignol poked and worried the mandolin with antennæ-like fingers,
and made up a contrite face.

The dimness of the hall had not covered Klussman's large pallor. The
emotions of the Swiss passed over the outside of his countenance, in
bulk like himself. His lady often compared him to a noble young bullock
or other well-conditioned animal. There was in Klussman much
wholesomeness and excuse for existence.

"Now, Klussman," said Marie, meeting her lieutenant with the intentness
of one used to sudden military emergencies. He trod straight to the
fireplace, and pointed at the strange girl, who hid her face.

"Madame, I have come in to speak of a thing you ought to know. Has that
woman told you her name?"

"No, she hath not. She hath kept a close tongue ever since we found her
at the outpost."

"She ever had a close tongue, madame, but she works her will in silence.
It hath been no good will to me, and it will be no good will to the Fort
of St. John."