He sat up again, his joints stiff with his immersion, and watched the distant ironclads. He saw with languid interest a ball strike the water, take a new flight, and plunge into the sea far to the right. He thought that the vagaries of cannon-balls at sea would make an interesting study. "Are you injured?" cried a clear voice behind him. "_Mon Dieu!_" shouted the young man in a genuine fright, as he sprang to his feet. "Oh, I beg pardon," as if a rescuer need apologize, "I thought you were M. De Plonville." "I _am_ De Plonville." "Your hair is grey," she said in an awed whisper; then added, "and no wonder." "Mademoiselle," replied the stricken young man, placing his hand on his heart, "it is needless to deny--I do not deny--that I was frightened-- but--I did not think--not so much as that, I regret. It is so--so-- theatrical--I am deeply sorrowful." "Please say no more, but come quickly. Can you come down? Step exactly in the middle of the canoe. Be careful--it is easily upset--and sit down at once. That was very nicely done." "Mademoiselle, allow me at least to row the boat." "It is paddling, and you do not understand it. I do. Please do not speak until we are out of range. I am horribly frightened." "You are very, very brave." "Hs--s--sh." Miss Stansby wielded the double-bladed paddle in a way a Red Indian might have envied. Once she uttered a little feminine shriek as a cannon ball plunged into the water behind them; but as they got further away from the buoy those on the iron-clads appeared to notice that a boat was within range, and the firing ceased. Miss Stansby looked fixedly at the solemn young man sitting before her; then placed her paddle across the canoe, bent over it, and laughed. De Plonville saw the reaction had come. He said sympathetically:-- "Ah, Mademoiselle, do not, I beg. All danger is over, I think." "I am not frightened, don't think it," she cried, flashing a look of defiance at him, and forgetting her admission of fear a moment before. "My father was an Admiral. I am laughing at my mistake. It is salt." "What is?" asked her astonished passenger. "In your hair." He ran his fingers through his hair, and the salt rattled down to the bottom of the canoe. There was something of relief in _his_ laugh. * * * * * De Plonville always believes the officers on board the gunboats recognized him. When it was known in Paris that he was to be married to the daughter of an English Admiral, whom rumor said he had bravely saved from imminent peril, the army lieutenant remarked that she could never have heard him speak her language--which, as we know, is not true. A NEW EXPLOSIVE.