Josephine little thought who was her sentinel.  She came to the door at last, and there he was marching backwards and forwards, upright and stiff.  She gave a faint scream and drew back with a shudder at the sight of their persecutor.  She even felt faintish at him, as women will in such cases.

Not being very quick at interpreting emotion, Raynal noticed her alarm, but not her repugnance; he saluted her with military precision by touching his cap as only a soldier can, and said rather gently for him, “A word with you, mademoiselle.”

She replied only by trembling.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Raynal, in a tone not very reassuring.  “I propose an armistice.”

“I am at your disposal, sir,” said Josephine, now assuming a calmness that was belied by the long swell of her heaving bosom.

“Of course you look on me as an enemy.”

“How can I do otherwise, sir? yet perhaps I ought not.  You did not know us.  You just wanted an estate, I suppose—­and—­oh!”

“Well, don’t cry; and let us come to the point, since I am a man of few words.”

“If you please, sir.  My mother may miss me.”

“Well, I was in position on your flank when the notary delivered his fire.  And I saw the old woman’s distress.”

“Ah, sir!”

“When you came flying out I followed to say a good word to you.  I could not catch you.  I listened while you prayed to the Virgin.  That was not a soldier-like trick, you will say.  I confess it.”

“It matters little, sir, and you heard nothing I blush for.”

“No! by St. Denis; quite the contrary.  Well, to the point.  Young lady, you love your mother.”

“What has she on earth now but her children’s love?”

“Now look here, young lady, I had a mother; I loved her in my humdrum way very dearly.  She promised me faithfully not to die till I should be a colonel; and she went and died before I was a commandant, even; just before, too.”

“Then I pity you,” murmured Josephine; and her soft purple eye began to dwell on him with less repugnance.

“Thank you for that word, my good young lady,” said Raynal.  “Now, I declare, you are the first that has said that word to me about my losing the true friend, that nursed me on her knee, and pinched and pinched to make a man of me.  I should like to tell you about her and me.”

“I shall feel honored,” said Josephine, politely, but with considerable restraint.

Then he told her all about how he had vexed her when he was a boy, and gone for a soldier, though she was all for trade, and how he had been the more anxious to see her enjoy his honors and success.  “And, mademoiselle,” said he, appealingly, “the day this epaulet was put on my shoulder in Italy, she died in Paris.  Ah! how could you have the heart to do that, my old woman?”

The soldier’s mustache quivered, and he turned away brusquely, and took several steps.  Then he came back to Josephine, and to his infinite surprise saw that her purple eyes were thick with tears.  “What? you are within an inch of crying for my mother, you who have your own trouble at this hour.”