Louise was silent. Now that her father explained his view of the matter she recognised that it was, after all, perfectly consistent with his character that he should think thus. That any one else should think the same way, however, was quite a different matter. Marie, for instance, would probably consider the idea a ridiculous one; her fiancé, Karl, was certain to laugh the suggestion to scorn, and yet Louise, to her surprise, found that she herself had listened to her father's words without the impatient amazement which so wild a proposal might have aroused in her. To her mind, trained as she had been, the idea of a woman assuming the dress of a man and enlisting as a man in the army of her country was neither absolutely new nor absolutely impossible. Louise knew, almost by heart, the story of Mademoiselle de Maupin, who had done this very thing a century ago; her career was a favourite theme of old Pierre's, who had drummed it into the ears of his daughters since they were children. Certainly if any woman could imitate Mademoiselle de Maupin with success, it was Marie. But Marie was in love and about to be married; she possessed no longer the manly spirit which would render such a thing possible, and Karl would certainly reject the idea. "Suggest to them your scheme, father," she said; "but I warn you that they will not receive it seriously." Marie flushed a little when the strange idea was mentioned to her; then she laughed and asked Karl what he thought of it. "It is madness," said Karl, glancing indignantly at old Pierre. "That a man who loves a woman, whether as father or lover, should be willing to submit her to the shame and the thousand risks involved in such a scheme, is madness and worse. Thank God, I am not so selfish, Marie. Rather a million times, I will go alone." Old Pierre shrugged his shoulders. "As you like," he said. "It is my misfortune. What other reply should I expect from a man who goes out unwillingly to serve his country?" "As for that," said Karl boldly, "if I possessed money I should certainly procure a substitute; having none, I must go; it is hard, Marie, but--_que faire_? it is necessity that drives us apart." Marie burst into tears and the unfortunate lovers left the room together. "Bah!" said old Pierre, not untouched by his daughter's sorrow. "It is a misfortune--it is a disaster; see, Louise, how this foolish weakness called 'love' spoils not only a splendid woman, but a good man also. Karl is not a coward, and yet----" "No--Karl is no coward, and Marie still less," said Louise, perfectly miserable. "Father, let a substitute be found--it is hard for them! You do not grudge the money, that I know!" "My daughter, I would spend the money ten times to have Karl go willingly; to keep him at home, I will not spend it once; what, pay for the dishonour of one who would marry my child? God forbid!" Old Pierre left the room.