“It is more than a month,” said Rose Lempriere, “since I had tidings of M. de Maufant.  Methinks your fiance M. le Gallais might show more alacrity in his coming.”

“Helas!” replied Marguerite, “poor Alain will never err on the side of precipitancy.  But seest thou not, my sister, the equinox here, and gales are abroad.  I did not expect him till the S. Michel; and then there are Captain Bowden and M. the Lieutenant’s cruisers to reckon with.”

“You do not appear to mind making the crane’s foot, my sister,” said Rose, with a slight smile.  “In my youth lovers were expected to be forward and maidens looked for attention.”

“It is not so long since your youth, my all fair.”

“But perhaps M. le Gallais is better occupied in another part.”

“Voyons, ma soeur; it is quite equal, to me.  Your M. le Gallais indeed! one would think it was you and M. de Maufant that wanted to marry him.  As for me, I do not want to marry at all.  Least of all does it import me to marry a man chosen by others.  I prefer the ways of England.”

“Di va!” exclaimed her sister.  “A good man is not bad because our friends like him.  Marry this good Alain, and love him after.”

The damsel replied by a pretty grimace.

“Marguerite!” said Mme. de Maufant, with a little frown, “on ne badine pas avec l’amour.  Or do you love another perhaps?  Ah! malheureuse; art thou still thinking of ce beau guilliard, how did they call him?  M. Elliot, I think, the King’s page?  I hear that he is returned with the King; and—­oh, Marguerite!——­”

“I swear to you Rose, I know nothing of M. Elliot—­”

As she spoke a low whistle was heard without.

“It is Alain’s signal,” cried Rose, all in a flutter.  “He brings me news from Michael.”

So saying Mme. de Maufant moved with a quick step towards the door opening on the back yard, whence the signal-whistle evidently came.  Marguerite site still on her tabouret, her head hidden in her shapely white hands.

On reaching the back-door Rose threw a wimple over her head, and carefully undoing the-chain and bar, admitted le Gallais, weary and travel-stained.  Taking both her hands the young man gazed in her face with the honest gaze of a loving brother.  Then searching in the lining of his doublet he drew out a letter, or rather a packet tied with string, and gave it to her.

“He is well,” he said, “but his heart suffers.”

“I know it, I know it,” sobbed the wife, “but come in, Alain; come in and take some repose.”

With which she led him into the room, and up to the hearth where sate the wilful beauty.

“Marguerite,” she said, “do you not see Alain le Gallais?”

“I am delighted to see M. le Capitaine,” was the girl’s reply, as she rose and made an obeisance, immediately resuming her seat.

Poor Alain! the cold of the autumn evening outside was nothing in comparison with the chill that fell upon him by that blazing hearth.  Weary as he was, and—­as soon appeared—­wounded also, his nerve, shaken by fatigue, gave way before this reception.  With giddy brain and wan face he sank into the nearest seat.