guest, she would not care to visit the solitary prisoner."

I felt myself colour crimson.

"But--but indeed I would care to come, Monsieur Maurice, if you had nothing
at all to show me," I said, half hurt, half angry.

He gave me a strange look that I could not understand, and stroked my hair
caressingly.

"Come often, then, little one," he said. "Come very often; and when we are
tired of pictures and microscopes, we will sit upon the floor, and tell
sad stories of the deaths of kings."

Then, seeing my look puzzled, he laughed and added:--

"'Tis a great English poet says that, Gretchen, in one of his plays."

Here a shrill trumpet-call in the court-yard, followed by the prolonged
roll of many drums, warned me that evening parade was called, and that as
soon as it was over my father would be home and looking for me. So I
started up, and put out my hand to say good-bye.

Monsieur Maurice took it between both his own.

"I don't like parting from you so soon, little Maedchen," he said. "Will you
come again to-morrow?"

"Every day, if you like!" I replied eagerly.