And there was the whole creed of Opal Ledoux.

But as intimate as she and the Boy had become, they yet knew comparatively little of each other’s lives.

Opal guessed that the Boy was of rank, and bound to some definite course of action for political reasons.  This much she had gained from odds and ends of conversation.  But beyond that, she had no idea who he was, nor whence he came.  She would not have been a woman had she not been curious—­and as I have said before, Opal Ledoux was, every inch of her five feet, a woman—­but she never allowed herself to wax inquisitive.

As for the Boy, he knew there was some evil hovering with threatening wings over the sunshine of the girl’s young life—­some shadow she tried to forget, but could not put aside—­and he grew to associate this shadow with the continued presence of the French Count, and his intimate air of authority.  Paul knew not why he should thus connect these two, but nevertheless the impression grew that in some way de Roannes exercised a sinister influence over the life of the girl he loved.

He hated the Count.  He resented every look that those dissolute eyes flashed at the girl, and he noticed many.  He saw Opal wince sometimes, and then turn pale.  Yet she did not resent the offense.

But Paul did.

“Such a look from a man like that is the grossest insult to any woman,” he thought, writhing in secret rage.  “How can she permit it?  If she were my—­my sister, I’d shoot him if he once dared to turn his damned eyes in her direction!”

And thus matters stood throughout the brief voyage.  Paul and Opal, though conscious of the double barrier between them, tried to forget its existence for the moment, and, at intervals, succeeded admirably.

For were they not in the spring-time of youth, and in love?

And Paul Zalenska talked to this girl as he had never talked to anyone before—­not even Paul Verdayne!

She brought out the latent best in him.  She developed in him a quickness of perception, a depth of thought and emotion, a facility of speech which he had never known.  She stimulated every faculty, and gave him new incentive—­a new and firmer resolve to aspire and fight for all that he held dear.

“I always feel,” he said to Opal, once, “as though my soul stood always at attention, awaiting the inevitable command of Fate!  All Nature seems to tell me at times that there is a purpose in my living, a work for me to do, and I feel so thoroughly alive—­so ready to listen to the call of duty—­and to obey!”

“A dreamer!” she laughed, “as wild a dreamer as I!”

“Why not?” he returned.  “All great deeds are born of dreams!  It was a dreamer who found this America you are so loyal to!  And who knows but that I too may find my world?”

“And a fatalist, too!”

“Why, of course!  Everyone is, to a greater or a less extent, though most dare not admit it!”