The love of her heart I crave. “Though parted afar from my darling, I dream of her everywhere; The sound of her voice is about me, The spell of her presence there. And whether my prayer be granted, Or whether she pass me by, The face of that gentle maiden Will follow me till I die.” Brand was standing by the piano, with the light of the tall lamp on his face, and I saw that there was a wetness in his eyes before the song was ended. “It is queer to hear that in Lille,” he said. “It’s so long since I heard a woman sing, and it’s like water to a parched soul.” Eileen O’Connor played the last bars again and, as she played, talked softly. “To me, the face of that gentle maiden is a friend’s face. Alice de Villers-Auxicourt, who died in prison.” “And whether my prayer be granted, Or whether she pass me by, The face of that gentle maiden Will follow me till I die.” Brand turned over the songs, and suddenly I saw his face flush, and I knew the reason. He had come to the German songs on which was written the name of Franz von Kreuzenach. He turned them over quickly, but Eileen pulled one out--it was a Schubert song--and opened its leaves. “That was the man who saved my life.” She spoke without embarrassment, simply. “Yes,” said Brand. “He suppressed the evidence.” “Oh, you know?” I told her that we had heard part of the tale from the Reverend Mother, but not all of it. Not the motive, nor what had really happened. “But you guessed?” “No,” I answered sturdily. She laughed, but in a serious way. “It is not a hard guess, unless I am older than I feel, and uglier than the mirror tells me. He was in love with me.” Brand and I looked absurdly embarrassed. Of course we _had_ guessed, but this open confession was startling, and there was something repulsive in the idea to both of us who had come through the war-zone into Lille, and had seen the hatred of the people for the German race, and the fate of Pierre Nesle’s sister. Eileen O’Connor told us that part of her story which the Reverend Mother had left out. It explained the “miracle” that had saved this girl’s life, though, as the Reverend Mother said, perhaps the grace of God was in it as well. Who knows?