“Louise would rescue him,” said her sister.  “She has influence there.”

“Would you pay my ransom?” I inquired, turning to her.

“With my life,” said she, solemnly.

“Greater love hath no man than this,” said the good Pere Joulin, smiling as the others laughed.

“And none has greater obligation,” said Louise, blushing with embarrassment.  “Has he not brought us three out of captivity?”

“Well, if I am taken,” I said, “nothing can bring me back unless it be—­”

“A miracle?” the baroness prompted as I paused.

“Yes; even a resurrection,” was my answer.  “I know what it means for a man to be captured there these days.”

Louise sat beside me, and I saw what others failed to notice—­her napkin stop quickly on its way to her lips, her hand tighten as it held the white linen.  It made me regretful of my thoughtless answer, but oddly happy for a moment.  Then they all besought me for some adventure of those old days in the army.  I told them the story of the wasps, and, when I had finished, our baroness told of the trouble it led to—­their capture and imprisonment.

“It was very strange,” said she, in conclusion.  “That Englishman grew kinder every day we were there, until we began to feel at home.”

They were all mystified, but I thought I could understand it.  We had a long evening of music, and I bade them all good-by before going to bed, for they were to be off early.

Well, the morning came clear, and before I was out of bed I heard the coach-horn, the merry laughter of ladies under my window, the prancing hoofs, and the crack of the whip as they all went away.  It surprised me greatly to find Louise at the breakfast table when I came below-stairs; I shall not try to say how much it pleased me.  She was gowned in pink, a red rose at her bosom.  I remember, as if it were yesterday, the brightness of her big eyes, the glow in her cheeks, the sweet dignity of her tall, fine figure when she rose and gave me her hand.

“I did feel sorry, ma’m’selle, that I could not go; but now—­now I am happy,” was my remark.

“Oh, captain, you are very gallant,” said she, as we took seats.  “I was not in the mood for merrymaking, and then, I am reading a book.”

“A book!  May its covers be the gates of happiness,” I answered.

“Eh bien! it is a tale of love,” said she.

“Of a man for a woman?” I inquired.

“Of a lady that loved two knights, and knew not which the better.”

“Is it possible and—­and reasonable?” I inquired.  “In a tale things should go as—­well, as God plans them.”

“Quite possible,” said she, “for in such a thing as love who knows what—­what may happen?”

“Except he have a wide experience,” I answered.

“And have God’s eyes,” said she.  “Let me tell you.  They were both handsome, brave, splendid, of course, but there was a difference:  the one had a more perfect beauty of form and face, the other a nobler soul.”