which was right--you or I. Goodbye."

Elise was busy at her kitchen fire. She looked up, startled, as her
visitor entered. Her heavy brow grew heavier, her eyes gleamed sulkily,
as she dragged herself forward with weariness, and stood silent and
resentful. Why had this lady of the Manor come to her? Madame Chalice
scarcely knew how to begin, for, in truth, she wanted to be the girl's
friend, and she feared making her do or say some wild thing.

She looked round the quiet room. Some fruit was boiling on a stove,
giving out a fragrant savour, and Elise's eye was on it mechanically. A
bit of sewing lay across a chair, and on the wall hung a military suit of
the old sergeant, beside it a short sabre. An old Tricolor was draped
from a beam, and one or two maps of France were pinned on the wall. She
fastened her look on the maps. They seemed to be her cue.

"Have you any influence with your uncle?" she asked.

Elise remained gloomily silent.

"Because," Madame Chalice went on smoothly, ignoring her silence,
"I think it would be better for him to go back to Ville Bambord--
I am sure of it."

The girl's lip curled angrily. What right had this great lady to
interfere with her or hers? What did she mean?

"My uncle is a general and a brave man; he can take care of himself," she
answered defiantly. Madame Chalice did not smile at the title. She
admired the girl's courage. She persisted however. "He is one man,