“My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever,” thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon’s heels. She drew near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan released Anne’s foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized. Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be found, must be omitted. Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan rubbed her aching ankle. “I think it’s really providential,” she said, “because I’d have been sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. My costume will fit her all right, and I’m quite content with hearing the voices and talking with the priest. You’ll do it, won’t you, Virginia?” “Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn’t like yours, Anne. Oh, I’m so sorry it happened!” “Well, it’s fortunate we have you, Virginia,” said Miss Allan. “You know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it.” Joan was lifted on Napoleon, where, having no spear to carry and both hands free to clutch the saddle, she felt quite fearless, especially since Virginia led her steed; and, followed by a train of sympathetic courtiers, was carried to The Hermitage, where her ankle, which was not badly hurt, was carefully bandaged. Meanwhile, Virginia, raised all at once to the dignity of a Senior, rehearsed her lines, and tried with the help of Lucile to pronounce the impossible French syllables. By three o’clock that afternoon the hillside amphitheater was crowded with guests, the number of relatives and friends being increased by many Hillcrest residents, who never failed to enjoy the Commencement “doings.” Prominent among those who awaited appearance of the pageant, was a tall, soldierly-looking gentleman, who sat beside Virginia’s father, and seemed to enjoy talking of a certain little girl, with whom he had journeyed East nine months before. Every now and then he bestowed proud glances upon his grandson, who had accompanied him, and who had already found in Jack Williams a pleasant companion. “I couldn’t resist bringing my grandson to meet Miss Virginia,” the old gentleman explained, “and I’m doubly glad I did come, for I’m delighted to meet her father.”