Lydia walked demurely at du Chesne’s side. Her fresh face, tinged with excited color, stood out in bewildering contrast to the flaxen hair. The neat dress of dark camlet with its snowy frills and “pinners,” which had formed her Puritan costume, had been exchanged for an imitation of Diane’s dress. Mademoiselle de Monesthrol delighted in decking out her protégé in the best she had; nothing was too good to heighten the charm of the blonde beauty. “This is likely to be an expensive whim,” Madame had remarked to Le Ber. “It would have been better, my friend, to have provided Diane with the little negro boy of whom you have so often spoken. The imp would have been less mischievous than this colorless English girl.” Le Ber shook his head. Though a Frenchman he was a man of few words. Many critical issues had been confided to his judgment with advantageous results. Was it possible that a frail, silly girl should have power to thwart the plans which he had labored with a refinement of elaboration to perfect? As they neared the encampment Lydia gave a frightened start. “I dread the savages. The very glance of these painted monsters makes me faint and ill,” she whispered nervously. Diane paused with quick compunction. “It is I who should have thought of that. You have nothing to fear, little one, with du Chesne at your side. Leave her not, even for an instant, my friend. Remember the terrible trial through which she has passed.” Lydia reddened to her very throat, and turning around flashed upon the young man such an odd, piteous, pleading glance that it startled him. Her naivété was as novel as her beauty; every glance had a glamor of magic. She was attractive with that undefinable charm that belongs to some women, a magnetic quality not depending upon faultlessness of physical beauty. A very child, she carried herself with an air of innocently transparent indifference, with her ready blushes and her pettish, winning face. She was so petulant that du Chesne was amused, and found his charge extremely interesting. When, some time later, Diane, finding herself at his side, whispered words of thanks for his consideration, he shook his head in protest, laughing in a startled, gratified sort of way; then turned from the subject with the careless ease which was one of his characteristics. “It is to you she owes her life. I want you really to like her, du Chesne,” the girl pleaded warmly. “It would not be difficult to do that!” and du Chesne laughed again. CHAPTER X. _THE COUNCIL._