Charlie now apologized to M. de Caillé for the conduct of the Bavarians, and hastened to cut the cord that bound him. He was so weak and faint from all he had undergone, that he could only stagger into an arm-chair, when his daughter caressed him and chafed his hands, and while the _bonne_ poured out some wine for him and Charlie, to whom she curtseyed, and tendered her thanks again and again. After a time all became more composed, and the conversation naturally ran on the events of the day, and the dreadful din of cannon and musketry which had been ringing for miles around the little chateau; and somehow, while chatting over their wine, and Charlie received again and again the heartfelt thanks of the old Frenchman, the latter, by some word or exclamation that escaped him, discovered the nationality of the former. 'Thank God, monsieur is an Englishman!' he exclaimed. 'Yes,' said Charlie, with one of his pleasant smiles. 'And yet you fight for those horrible barbarians, the Prussians?' exclaimed the young lady. 'I am a soldier of fortune, my dear child,' said Charlie, laughing, for the girl was only in her fifteenth year, apparently, and he could not but remember that Ernestine was one of those 'horrible barbarians.' 'I could have guessed as much,' said the girl. 'How, Mademoiselle? 'By a certain boldness in your bearing, and by something in your eyes that tells of----' she paused shyly and coloured at her own impetuosity. 'An expression that tells of what?' asked Charlie. 'I don't know, unless it is of--sorrow.' 'You are an acute observer, Mademoiselle,' said Charlie, bowing. 'I have indeed undergone much sorrow but lately.' The girl had a pretty, innocent, and most lovable little face. She was, probably, half German in blood; her eyes were bright blue; her cheeks delicate and peach-like; her lips a ruddy red, though cheek and lips were ashy white with terror when Charlie first saw her, being pulled about roughly by the Bavarians, who had boisterously dragged her from one another, under the eyes of her helpless and agonized father. She nestled up to Charlie's side, and shaking the masses of her rich brown hair--hair that in its tint reminded him of Herminia--she put a pretty hand on each of his epaulettes, and looking into his face with pure childish confidence, said-- 'I shall like you. I am sure I shall. I am so happy you are not one of those barbarians, though you do wear a spike-helmet!' 'Why? How should you like me?' 'Can you ask me _why_, Monsieur, after saving our lives? In gratitude, I can love you and pray for you.' Charlie laughed, and said-- '_Ma belle_, I am, indeed, thankful that we were in time to turn these marauders out of doors.' And then he thought of his three sisters at home, and what his emotions would be if such a scene, as he had just interrupted, had taken place in his father's quiet house in Warwickshire. 'What is your name, Monsieur?' she asked, 'as I must never forget it.'