Mme. de la Vireville lived in the plainest way in a small house in St. Helier. Indeed no other manner of life was open to her, for she and her son were very poor, though they had not always been so. But resource was innate to her French blood. Besides, Jersey was dear to her--dearer at least than England would have been--for it was near France, and those expeditions in which Fortuné so frequently hazarded his life had Jersey for their starting-point. So, at irregular intervals, she was able to see him; sometimes he even slept a night or two beneath her roof. Every time they parted she knew that the odds were considerably on the side of their never meeting again. But she had in her little body the soul of a hero, and in consequence her son kept back few secrets from her; indeed, he often came to her for advice, as he would have done to a comrade. In spite of great sorrows she had about her something eternally young, something in the mind corresponding to the almost infantine freshness of her oval face under its crown of grey hair. * * * * * The simple meal was gay. The small visitor, bathed, brushed, even mended as to his more noticeable rents, had one side of the table to himself, and plied a very creditable knife and fork. How much he loved and admired Fortuné, and how fond Fortuné was of him, soon became apparent to Mme. de la Vireville; and when she slipped out into the kitchen to put the last touches to the salad, Jeanne Carré, the Jersey girl, observed respectfully: "One might almost say, Madame, that it was M. le Chevalier's son sitting there at table with you!" A vivid look of pain shot across Mme. de la Vireville's face, and was gone in an instant. "Yes, might one not, my child?" she answered quietly. But later, when she was back in the little parlour with her guests, and sat for a moment studying the two, her gaze was clouded with a profound sadness. And, as it happened, her son looked up and caught the expression. His eyes smiled at her, but his mouth was grave. At the end of the repast Anne-Hilarion was installed in an arm-chair with a book, while mother and son conferred together on the window-seat. "You will oblige me, Fortuné," began Mme. de la Vireville, "by going as soon as possible to a surgeon. You are telling me the truth when you say that it is nothing serious?" she added, eyeing the bandage round his head with suspicion. "Have you ever known me lie to you, little mother?" he retorted. "The bullet must have struck the mast and glanced off on to my head, which is equally hard. I promise you that I will have the scratch attended to. But first I must make inquiries about the English frigate. Should she be sailing this afternoon or evening, as I suspect, Anne must go in her." "You will not go with him yourself, Fortuné?"