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'Tis my winter of joy and my summer of rest, 'Tis my future, my present, my past; And though storms fill the East and the clouds haunt the West, I shall follow my Star to the last." "There, that was to Lucile. What would he write to Gabrielle to Henri's Gabrielle? How droll how droll!" Again she laughed that laugh of eternal recklessness. It filled Shorland this time with a sense of fear.
Gabrielle looked about her, as if to be assured that no one was within hearing, and then whispered into Flora's ear: "Henri will never tell me, but they hunt us down. Ever since I was a child we have fled from place to place, hiding. I have often been roused at night by clash of swords and Henri's voice, crying: 'I am here! But his sword is always the strongest, and we have always escaped."
"Henri's poor father and mother had fallen asleep on the floor, after having wearied themselves with their violent grief; the Marquis had made a pillow of his cloak, and the Marchioness of a small bundle which she had brought in her hand out of the carriage. Henri looked at them till his eyes were full of tears; they looked pale and sorrowful even in their sleep.
Jean took a walk that morning, and stood staring for twenty minutes into a clock maker's window, full of clocks. After which he drew out his watch and looked at the time! At two in the afternoon Sara Lee saw Henri's car come into the square. It was, if possible, more dilapidated than before, and he came like a gray whirlwind, scattering people and dogs out of his way.
And Henri's plan assumed new proportions. Suppose she made her attempt and failed? Suppose they took her for a spy, and that tomorrow's sun found her facing a firing squad? Not, indeed, that she had ever heard of a firing squad, as such. But she had seen spies shot in the movies. They invariably stood in front of a brick wall, with the hero in the center.
"Pardon, monsieur," he said, whereat Henri's jaw dropped suddenly, while Stuart growled. "And pardon me, monsieur," came the ready answer; "it was my fault. But but surely surely, not German. You are you " "One moment," said Henri, his wits hard at work; "who are you, monsieur?" "I? I? A Belgian patriot, monsieur; and you, though the darkness hides you, you are a Frenchman of Paris."
"It was fine fine!" Jules told his chum, stretching out a hand and gripping Henri's energetically. "Oh, rot!" Henri contrived to stutter. He was getting quite indignant now. "What utter nonsense you are talking! As if any old woman would fight a German!" "Just so! That's why I retorted when you asked me if, or rather suggested that, I thought that you were one."
For still Henri's ears buzzed, and still his brain reeled; not so much from the explosion for the wall separating the hall from the corridor outside had sheltered him not a little, but reeling from the effects of his tumble downstairs and the mad mêlée which had taken place there.
He would not like her receiving a call from any man. And Harvey did not like foreigners. He always said they had no respect for women. It struck her suddenly what Harvey would call Henri's bowing and his kissing her hand, and his passionate gesticulations when he was excited. He would call it all tomfool nonsense.
Henri's first care, after having seen Marie and Madame de Lescure, was to provide for their transit, and that of his wounded friend, to the other side of the water; for he felt that if the blues came upon St. Florent before that was done, nothing could prevent the three from being made prisoners. No tidings had yet been received of the advance of the republicans from Cholet towards St.
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