As he spoke a tall girl of eighteen, barefooted and bareheaded, entered the door, tall and straight as a young poplar, lissom and graceful, with the deep blue black eyes and low broad brow that one meets again and again among the peasants of the West country. Here is the pure Greek, instinct with life, but touched with a certain grace of sad and pensive beauty. She also started with surprise when her eyes fell on the young Frenchman. “I thought, mother,” she said hesitating--"I thought--" “Have done thinking and help me with the supper,” her mother answered, with a glance of warning. “The gentlemen have ridden far and will stay the night.” “Madame does not recognize her old friends, ma belle,” said De Laprade lightly, “but you will not be so cruel. When we parted this morning, I did not dream that we should meet so soon, but it is the fortune of war.” “And the rest,” cried the girl eagerly, “are they also--” The woman looked up anxiously for a moment. "Poof!--they are gone--_ecrasés_; they need no roof over their heads to-night, nor a pretty maiden to wait on them. They drank too deep last night to have cool heads this morning, and now they will never hear the reveille sound again. It is a great pity, but the fortunes of war--" “I don´t understand,” said the girl. “What has become of them?” “They are lying yonder by the roadside and will waken never again.” The woman threw up her hands with a loud cry and fell on the floor. “These barbarians have then some touch of humanity,” said De Laprade softly, while Gervase ran forward and raised her head upon his knee, and the girl seized a water can which stood on the table and bathed her cheeks and forehead. In a few minutes the woman recovered consciousness and looked round her wildly. “It is not true,” she cried; “´tis a lie. My beautiful boy that left me singing this morning with the lovelight dancing in his eyes is not dead. The sword was never sharpened that could slay him. I care not for King James or King William and for--why should they not leave me in peace? Tell me, for the Holy Virgin´s sake, that it is not true.” She rose and staggering forward threw herself at De Laprade´s feet and caught him round the knees, with streaming eyes and a look of wild entreaty in her face. He endeavoured ineffectually to disengage himself, but she clung to him with desperate earnestness. His look of placid indifference gave way to one of profound pity. “It may be,” he said, gently endeavouring to raise her to her feet, “it may be that I was wrong and your son is not dead. I remember me he was our guide and did not carry arms. He may have escaped the fate that befell the others, but one of these gentlemen will tell you.” At this moment Macpherson, accompanied by the sergeant, entered the house. “What pother is this?” he said roughly. “If you are unwilling to serve us we will even wait upon ourselves. We do not make war on women, but they must not hinder us.”