Marie Josephine took him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. “You will not go. Not for anything in the world would I let you go. Do you think I would be such an ungrateful girl as that to Mother Barbette? You are never to speak of it again—never!” Marie Josephine was so excited that she had to take a deep breath before she could go on. “Oh, if only you could! But we must never, never talk of it again!” Her eyes glowed as she spoke, and there was a glad, warm feeling in her heart. It was good to have a friend like Jean, even though he seemed so young for twelve and a half and knew so little of the world beyond Les Vignes! They reached the wide sweep of terrace and she turned to him quickly. “I must run, for I am sure they will be angry because it is dark. Le Pont has grown so fussy and afraid. She cries a great deal, too. Thank you for saying you would go with me. It can never, never be done. It would be unfair and dishonorable of me to let you go. A Saint Frère could not do such a thing—— But it would have been fun!” She was off, running across the terrace like a wild rabbit. The governess was standing at the top of the veranda steps. Marie Josephine could see that she was frowning. “You make it so much harder for me these days, Marie Josephine,” she said, holding her dark satin cloak close about her. The wind swept across the porch, making the dry, frozen lily stalks at the side of the house crackle oddly. “I am never at ease about you. You never seem to be in the house. To-morrow you will stay inside all day, and you will do extra lessons. You are disobedient and thoughtless!” After she had spoken Madame le Pont went into the house. Bertran did most of the talking at supper. He tried to make Marie Josephine quarrel with him, but she did not seem to mind his teasing as she generally did. She despised Bertran. He was fourteen and yet he did nothing but ride and dance. Ah, if only he were a brave knight who could go to Paris and help Lisle! There was instead only little Jean. Her heart warmed toward Jean as she sat next to Cécile in the long drawing-room after supper. She watched Neville as he went about lighting the candles. He was dressed in the scarlet and white livery of the old Paris days and his white wig was tied back with a black ribbon. She had asked him again and again to tell her all that he knew. He had assured her, with all honesty, that he had left her mother and Lisle safe and well at the Paris house, and that there was no need for her to be alarmed. But she knew that he did not believe that they were not in danger, and she guessed that he was thankful that Dian had gone to them. Marie Josephine put her head against Cécile’s shoulder and looked into the fire with half-closed eyes. Denise was singing at the old spinnet and Bertran was trying to join in, but his voice sounded as though any moment it would crack. It was an old country song and there was something plaintive and charming about it.