Had the pure soul of the woman been touched by the fringe of that magnetic wave of passion even as it rose to its utmost height, nearly sweeping the man off his feet, and in its final retreat leaving him with quivering nerves and senses bruised and numb? Did something of the man's suffering, of his love and of his despair appear--despite his efforts--upon his face and in the depth of his glance?--and thus made visible did they--even through their compelling intensity--cause that invisible barrier of social prejudices to totter and to break? It were difficult to say. Certain it is that Crystal's whole heart warmed to the stranger as it had never warmed before. She felt that here was a _man_ standing before her now, whose promises would never be mere idle words, whose deeds would speak more loudly than his tongue. She felt that in the midst of all the enmity which encompassed her and her father in their newly regained home and land, here at any rate was a friend on whom they could count to help, to counsel and to accomplish. And deep down in the very bottom of her soul there was a curious unexplainable longing that circumstances should compel her to ask one day for his help, and a sweet knowledge that that help would be ably rendered and pleasing to receive. But for the moment, of course, there was nothing that she could ask: she would be married in a couple of days--alas! so soon!--and after that it would be to her husband that she must look for devotion, for guidance and for sympathy. A little sigh of regret escaped her lips, and she said gently: "I thank you, Sir, from the bottom of my heart, for the words of friendship which you have spoken. I shall never forget them, never! and if at any time in my life I am in trouble . . ." "Which God forbid!" he broke in fervently. "If any time I have need of a friend," she resumed, "I feel that I should find one in you. Oh! if only I could think that you would extend your devotion to my poor country, and to our King . . ." she exclaimed with passionate earnestness. "You love your country very dearly, Mademoiselle," he rejoined. "I think that I love France more than anything else in the world," she replied, "and I feel that there is no sacrifice which I would deem too great to offer up for her." "And by France you mean the Bourbon dynasty," he said almost involuntarily, and with an impatient little sigh. "I mean the King, by the grace of God!" she retorted proudly. She had thrown back her head with an air of challenge as she said this, meeting his glance eye to eye: she looked strong and wilful all of a sudden, no longer girlish and submissive. And to the man who loved her, this trait of power and latent heroism added yet another to the many charms which he saw in her. Loyal to her country and to her king she would be loyal in all things--to husband, kindred and to friends.