Laline's voice was unlike any voice which Armstrong had ever heard, with a sound in it which constitutes what the French call _une voix voilée_, a low-pitched cooing inflection, peculiarly soothing to the ear. "Have you had any nice presents?" he asked, determining instantly to go down to the town and buy the pretty child some sweets, until, with a hot flush of vexation, he remembered his empty pockets. "I haven't had any presents," the girl answered; and then, with a little break in her voice, she added, "Papa had forgotten the date!" "Not at all, my dear, not at all. The fact was I was on my way to choose you some pretty trifle when I met our friend here. And, as soon as you and the good Bénoîte have prepared us a little _déjeuner_, I will go down to the town and get you some little souvenir. But now a cutlet and a little salad will be acceptable; and here"--he fumbled in his pockets and produced at length a coin--"take this, my child, to Monsieur Desjardins, and bring a bottle of _vin ordinaire_. He'll let you take it for cash, though we have a little account there." Laline took a wide-brimmed Zulu straw hat from a nail, slung a basket over her arm, and went pattering down the stone-paved street on the little wooden-heeled shoes, into which she had thrust her feet when disturbed at her play. Wallace Armstrong leaned his elbows on the window-sill and stared after the slim figure in blue with hair that shone gold in the bright sunlight. "How in the world," he said to Garth, without looking round, "do you come to have a daughter like that? And what are you about letting her potter about dirty little wine-shops in Boulogne?" "Monsieur Desjardins is our grocer--a most respectable person," returned Captain Garth, joining Armstrong at the window and lighting a cigarette. "Every one knows that Laline and I belong to the upper classes, although we're not very ready with our money just now." "I'm sorry for the child," was his companion's only comment--"very sorry!" CHAPTER II. Laline, for her part, had almost forgotten the time when she had first flushed with indignation at the notion of running errands for her father.