"He comes to finish my portrait," she said. "This is the last sitting."

"Marie, must I go like this? When may I see you again? When will you
answer me? You will not make all the hopes to end here?"

It was evident that some deep trouble was on the girl. She flushed
hotly, as if she were about to reply hotly also, but she changed quickly,
and said, not unkindly: "When M. Laflamme has gone." And now, as if
repenting of her unreasonable words of a moment before, she added: "Oh,
please don't think me hard. I am sorry that I grieve you. I'm afraid
I am not altogether well, not altogether happy."

"I will wait till he has gone," the planter replied. At the door he
turned as if to say something, but he only looked steadily, sadly at her,
and then was gone.

She stood where he had left her, gazing in melancholy abstraction at the
door through which he had passed. There were footsteps without in the
hall-way. The door was opened, and a servant announced M. Laflamme. The
painter-prisoner entered followed by the soldier. Immediately afterward
Mrs. Angers, Marie's elderly companion, sidled in gently.

Laflamme bowed low, then turned and said coolly to the soldier: "You may
wait outside to-day, Roupet. This is my last morning's work. It is
important, and you splutter and cough. You are too exhausting for a
studio."

But Roupet answered: "Monsieur, I have my orders."