“But I do not mean to be a burden on you,” he subjoined quickly. “I still think I should like to be a soldier, yet I have a fair education and I can make my living at something.” In the light of the luxury of Paris all through his childhood, so differently aspected from this, he gathered that his sister was far from rich; but even if she had been, he had not meant to ask help from her. There was a good deal of pride in the De Longueville blood. He had not come as a suppliant for anything but love. She liked him none the worse for it. Then glancing up, she saw Uncle Gaspard and her child in the street. “Excuse my absence a few moments and go on with your rest, for you look weary enough. Chloe, bring some more wine and cake.” Then she glided down the path and met them at the gateway. Her face was flushed, her eyes deep and full of emotion. “Come here in the little arbor,” she cried. “A strange thing has happened to me. I feel as if I had been reading it in a book, but it is all true. I hardly know where to begin. And, Uncle Gaspard, you must be kind and merciful, and forgive my father for his neglect. He is dead. He was one of the victims of that awful revolution because he was faithful to his King.” “Renée, child, do not give way to such excitement. The grave covers all. We do not carry our grudges beyond it. And if he had loved you, you would never have come to me and I should have lost much, much!” And, picking up little Gaspard, he kissed him fondly and lifted him to his shoulder. “Yes, I knew you would forgive, you are so generous. And”—she caught his free hand—“my brother, who has fled from those horrible scenes, who has lost both parents, has emigrated and is here—found me after some searching. Life has gone hardly with him.” “Count de Longueville’s son!” The lines of Gaspard Denys’s face hardened, his eyes grew stern. “Think of him as my brother only,” she pleaded. “We are to be kindly disposed to our enemies even. And, as you say, if he had been a fond father to me you would never have had me or little Gaspard. I think Robert will soon go away again. He has been partly bred for a soldier. And we ought not visit on him any sin of his father. That is left for God.” “True.” It was gravely said, but not cordially. “Let us see what the young man is like. Renée, he never shall be any trouble to you.” “Oh, you will feel so sorry for him presently.” They walked to the porch—gallery, as every one called it. The young fellow had finished his food and wine again. He had eaten nothing since morning. He looked a little rested, but his eyes had a questioning glance.