“Who are you?” demanded Madame de la Tour.

“I am ashamed to tell you,” replied a soft, sweet voice, which the lady instantly recognized; “but if you can forgive me, I will uncover myself, for, indeed, I am well nigh suffocated already.”

“Foolish child! where have you been, and what is the meaning of all this?”

“I was coming to seek for you; but I lingered here a few moments, for, in truth, I have no fancy to approach very near those formidable guns, unless they are more peaceably disposed than they have been to-day, and, now I must see if you forgive my cowardice!”

With these words the cloak was hastily unloosed, and the young page of Mad. la Tour sprang lightly from its folds.  A tartan kirtle, reaching below the knees, with trews of the same material, and a Highland bonnet, adorned with a tuft of eagle feathers, gave him the appearance of a Scottish youth;—­but the sparkling black eyes, the clear brunette complexion, and the jetty locks which clustered around its brow and neck, proclaimed him the native of a warmer and brighter climate.  Half laughing, yet blushing with shame, the boy looked with arch timidity in his lady’s face, as if deprecating the expected reproof; but she smiled affectionately on him, and said,

“I have nothing to forgive, my child; God knows this is but a poor place for one so young and delicate as you, and I wonder not, that your courage is sometimes tested beyond its strength.  I would not wish you to share the dangers which it is my duty to encounter.”

“I should fear nothing could I really be of service to you,” replied the page, “but, to-day, for instance, I must have been sadly in your way, and I am very sure the first cannon ball would have carried me off the walls.”

“The enemy would doubtless aim at so important a mark,” said the lady, smiling, “but go now,—­your valour will never win the spurs of knighthood.”

“I am not ambitious of such an honour,” he answered gaily; “you know I am but a fair-weather sort of page, fit only to hover around my lady’s bower, in the season of flowers and sunshine.”

“Mine is no bower of ease,” said Mad. la Tour; “but with all its perils, I am resolved to guard it with my life, and resign it only into the hands of my lord.  You have promised to assist me,” she added, after a moment’s pause, “and I wish you to redeem your word by remaining here till I return.  I care not to trust the faith of those idle soldiers, who, perchance, think they have done enough of duty to-day, and your keener eyes may keep a closer watch on the landing place, and sooner espy the motions of the enemy, who still hold their station below.”

“This I can do with pleasure,” said the page, “and I am as brave as heart can wish, when there is no danger nigh.  I love to linger under the open sky in the twilight of these bright days, which are so cheering after the damp fogs of spring, that I can hardly regret the eternal sunshine of my own dear France.”