He, meantime, being a blithe, courageous young midshipman, was gayly chattering with his protectress.  There he was laughing at her good-naturedly as she trembled for his sake, and chattering broken German as best he could.  Wealth is a good thing, and health a better; but surely high spirited hope is worth more than the philosopher’s stone.

“No, Mademoiselle,—­I could bear the dark room no longer.  Better an hour in the light of your blue eyes than an age in that dark room!”

“Still—­nevertheless—­it is dangerous to leave the room.  The burgomaster”—­

“Cannot see all the way here from the town; besides, if he could, your presence would dazzle him, and I should be safe.”

“So you can trust your secret with me,—­a woman?”

“I would trust it with two women,—­three,—­for with every disclosure there would be a fear the less that I should be found.  You cannot comprehend that,—­now consider.”

“La!  I cannot.”

“How good you are!  How would they punish you, if they learned the truth?”

“Oh, a good heart—­I do think I have a good heart—­don’t weigh this way and that when there is a good action to be done.”

“And done for the sake of a poor stranger.”

“Stranger?  Nonsense!  I meet you,—­you are in misfortune; therefore we are old friends.  And an old friend may surely lend a room to her old friend.”

“And your name?”

“They call me Bertha.”

“And you are single?”

“If you ask me that question an hour hence, I shall say, ‘No.’”

“No!—­the only harsh word you have used.”

“Why harsh?”

“Well, shut up in a dark room, you have your thoughts to yourself; and you think, and think, and think again; and you always think of the same thing; and then—­then you wake up, and there’s an end to your dream.”

“And how do you know I have not dreamt?—­The clothes I got for you fit you well; you look a German.  Ah, you make a grimace!”

“So, you are going to be married.”

“In one hour—­less five minutes.”

“Ah! which way am I to go?”

“Straight back into the house.”

“Nonsense!—­I should compromise you.”

“The house is mine; surely I may do as I like with it.”

“And when may I reach the coast?”

“When the night reaches us.”

“Good!—­and—­and good-bye!”

“Well,—­yes,—­good-bye, I suppose,—­and—­and promise me one thing?”

“I do promise.”

“Don’t look at him.”

“Him!  Whom?”

“My husband—­who is coming.”

“He is so handsome?”

“Oh, magnificent!  Good-bye! good-bye!”

Here he ran back into the dark room, while Bertha, who was a spoilt child, if the truth may be told, pulled moodily at one of the two long, black plaits of hair she wore.  And it must be set down, sad as it is, that, seeing Jodoque coming up the road to claim her, accompanied by a sailorly-looking personage, she went in and shut the door with a deal of vigor.