raillery so tender that he started with happiness. His movement brought
him a hot spasm of pain, and he clapped his hand to a red stain on his
waistcoat.

"You are hurt!"

"It is nothing," smiled M. Beaucaire. Then, that she might not see
the stain spreading, he held his handkerchief over the spot. "I am a
little--but jus' a trifling--bruise'; 'tis all."

"You shall ride in the coach," she whispered. "Will you be pleased, M.
de Chateaurien?"

"Ah, my beautiful!" She seemed to wave before him like a shining
mist. "I wish that ride might las' for always! Can you say that,
mademoiselle?"

"Monseigneur," she cried in a passion of admiration, "I would what you
would have be, should be. What do you not deserve? You are the bravest
man in the world!"

"Ha, ha! I am jus' a poor Frenchman."

"Would that a few Englishmen had shown themselves as 'poor' tonight.
The vile cowards, not to help you!" With that, suddenly possessed by her
anger, she swept away from him to the coach.

Sir Hugh, groaning loudly, was being assisted into the vehicle.

"My little poltroons," she said, "what are you doing with your