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The victory that was to mar one empire and make another, years after Solferino, was summed up in three thoughts by the woman who had the courage to live frankly in her own small woman's world, who was ready to fight as resolutely as any fought at Sedan for Denise.
Returning to the house at midday, mademoiselle went into the drawing-room, and there found Denise and Colonel Gilbert seated at the table with some papers, and a map spread out before them. Both looked up with a guilty air, and Denise flushed suddenly, while the colonel bit his lip. Immediately he recovered himself, and rising, shook hands with the new-comer.
Little Joyce was quite unembarrassed and perfectly willing to do anything she could for this wonderful woman who had brought that look to Denise's face. "I will sing as well as I can for you. Of course, I can't sing very well and I don't know anything but hymns. I always sing hymns for Denise, although she is a Catholic and the hymns are Protestant.
For reply Mademoiselle Brun handed her the Baroness do Melide's letter. "Yes," said Denise, when she had read the note. "But I do not understand." "No. Because you never knew your father the bravest man God ever created. But some other man will teach you some day." "Teach me what?" asked Denise, looking with wonder at the little woman. "Of what are you thinking?"
Soon they reached the region of the upper pines, which are small, and presently passed a piece of virgin forest of those great pines which have no like in Europe. "Look!" said Denise, gazing up at the great trees with a sort of gasp of excitement. But mademoiselle had only eyes for the road in front.
Madeline said affectionately. "I oughtn't to have bothered you, but I seem to have made a dreadful mess of things so far." "Oh, no, you haven't," Betty assured her. "Eleanor knows how queer Jean is, and what horrid things she says about people who won't follow her lead. None of that crowd would help about the toy-shop except Kate Denise, but every one else has been fine.
And Little Joyce was beginning to understand that Denise would not be in the kitchen chamber very much longer, and the little black doll couldn't tell you she loved you although she did, of course. Little Joyce had no doubt at all on this point. Little Joyce sighed so deeply over this thought that Uncle Roderick smiled at her. Uncle Roderick did smile at her sometimes.
Susini read it once, and was turning it to read again, when, glancing out of the window, he saw Denise cross the Place, and go into the church. "Ah!" he said aloud, "that will save me a long walk." Then he read the letter again, with curt nods of the head from time to time, as if Lory were making points or giving minute instructions.
Some six weeks later Denise died as quietly as she had lived, her small cold hands clinging to Peter Champneys's, her blue eyes with their untroubled, loving gaze fixed upon his face. When that beloved face faded from her the world itself had faded from Denise. He hadn't dreamed one could suffer as he was called upon to suffer then.
"The wretches! is this why they keep me alive?" he said, closing his eyes. Denise, who had lately been confined in a prison, was distrustful of everything; the spy had no doubt hidden himself merely to return in a few moments. The girl flung herself on her brother, bent her tearful face to his and whispered: "They may be listening to us."
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