truth of life, madame."

Suddenly there came into his look something of the yearning and hunger
which the lonely and forsaken feel when they are not on the full tide of
doing. It was as though he must have companionship, in spite of his
brave announcement that he must fight his fight alone. He had been
wounded in the battle, and here was one who held out the hand of healing
to him. Never since his wife had left him the long lonely years ago had
a woman meant anything to him except as one of a race; but in this moment
here a woman had held his hand, and he could feel still the warm palm
which had comforted his own agitated fingers.

Virginie Poucette saw, and she understood what was passing in his mind.
Yet she did not see and understand all by any means; and it is hard to
tell what further show of fire there might have been, but that the Clerk
of the Court was there, saying harshly under his breath, "The huzzy!
The crafty huzzy!"

The Clerk of the Court was wrong. Virginie was merely sentimental, not
intriguing or deceitful; for Jean Jacques was not a widower--and she was
an honest woman and genuinely tender-hearted.

"I'm coming to the Manor Cartier to-morrow," Virginie continued. "I have
a rug of yours. By mistake it was left at my house by M'sieu' Dolores."

"You needn't do that. I will call at your place tomorrow for it,"
replied Jean Jacques almost eagerly. "I told M'sieu' Dolores to-day
never to enter my house again. I didn't know it was your rug. It was
giving away your property, not his own," she hurriedly explained, and her
face flushed.