“Should I have to go away with ... Marcel?” she asked. When she was a child she had always called him by his Christian name. Now she scarce dared pronounce the two syllables which seemed to burn her lips. “Of course, when you are his wife,” said Paule, astonished. “Yes, yes, of course. But shall we go very far?” “To Algiers.” “Oh, that is so far away. My mother will never give her consent.” Her beautiful eyes were troubled. She already saw her happiness taking flight. “Perhaps he would give up Algiers for the time being to please you. But don’t spoil his career, Alice. I think it is always dangerous to do that, and Marcel’s is so promising.” “Oh, you know, Paule dear, I am not a heroine. I shall never be a Guibert. But he has been brave enough, has he not?” Paule could hardly keep from laughing. “You can never be too brave,” she said. “We who have no outside life, Alice, who have to stay at home, can at least help our brothers, our husbands, our sons, by our strong and understanding love. We must show our preference for those men who are brave and of some use in the world.” “I have never thought about these things,” said Alice. “And yet you love Marcel?” “If he ceased to be useful to his country I should love him just as well,” Alice replied. “Ah,” said Paule softly, as if talking to herself. “For my part, I should never dare to spoil my husband’s career.” Her companion scarcely heard. She was following her own train of thought. “Since he loves me, could he not stay with me, near his mother and my family? We should be so happy! Our fortune would be quite enough for both of us.” “He would not accept that,” answered Paule. And forgetting her mission of peace in an access of pride, she answered contemptuously: “So you would not go with him?” Alice noticed the scorn and answered somewhat angrily: “Of course, I would go with him everywhere. For I love him, as you know. I am quite ready. But ...” She hesitated for a moment, and then she murmured mournfully: “There is my mother.” “Your mother loves you and wishes for your happiness above everything.” “No doubt. But she wishes that I should enjoy it near her, so that she can enjoy it too. Isn’t that only natural?” Paule thought of her own mother, who had borne so many separations and who had never turned her children from their path. She was silent and her dark eyes sparkled no more. Alice took her hand, and then releasing it she began to cry. “Paule, I’m afraid, I’m so afraid. But I love you so.” It was to Marcel that these passionate words were addressed--through the medium of Paule. The latter soothed the timid girl as she might a little sister of her own. “Someone is coming,” she said suddenly, hearing a noise among the leaves. “Take care.” “Will they see that I have been crying?” “No, hardly. Don’t rub your eyes.” And in a low voice she murmured, “Be brave. You promise me that?” “Oh, yes.” “Dear little sister!” Alice smiled, comforted by this sweet name.