He had his lesson, as he said, each day; for he would sit for hours poring over either the pages of the Bible or some book of theology; but from that day I am quite sure that Father Bonneville was, at heart, a Protestant. There is only one other incident worthy of notice which I remember in connection with the events of which I have just spoken. That was our separation from good Jeanette, who had hitherto been the companion of all our travels. For more than a month after our arrival in Zurich I remarked that she looked anxious and uneasy. She said nothing on the subject of her own feelings, however, to me, but was less communicative and more thoughtful than usual, would be in the same room with me for a long time without speaking one word to him who was I knew the darling of her heart, and was more than once spoken to without appearing to hear. At length one day when I entered Father Bonneville’s room I found her standing before him; and heard her say as I came in, “I must go and see my lady. I am sure she is ill and wants help. I must go and see her. I have done nothing but dream of her every night.” “Well, Jeanette, well,” replied he, “you must have your way; but you know not what you undertake. At all events you had better stay till some favorable opportunity can be found for sending you in safety.” Jeanette only shook her head, however, repeating in a low voice, “I must go and see my lady.” She remained with us two days after this interview, and I recollect quite well her coming into my room one night just as I was going to bed, and looking at me very earnestly, while I, with sportsman-like care, was cleaning my rifle ere I lay down. “Ah, Monsieur Louis,” she said in a somewhat sad tone, “you are growing a man quite fast, and I dare say, you will soon be a soldier; but do not get into any of their bad ways here; and never, never forget your religion. They turn older and wiser heads than yours or mine; but do not let them turn yours.” “No fear, I hope, Jeanette,” I answered; “but what do you want, my dear old dame?” “Nothing, nothing, but only to see what you are doing,” she replied. “I see your light burning often late of nights, and I thought you might be reading bad books that craze many strong brains. Better clean a gun by far, Louis—only never forget your religion.” I smiled at her anxious care of one no longer a boy, little thinking that I was so soon to lose one so closely connected with every memory of my youth, but when I rose the next morning somewhat later than usual, Jeanette was gone; and all I could learn from Father Bonneville was that she had set out upon a long and difficult journey, the thought of which gave him much uneasiness. THE PLEASURES OF BATTLE.[4] • • • • • • •