"My dear heart--a school five miles off. You will think nothing of it when the time arrives," urged the Colonel, who till then had gone against his own better judgment, keeping the boy at home and allowing him to attend a day-school. He had won his wife's consent to the boarding-school in the autumn only that morning, by yielding to her wish that Roy should go to Paris. The Colonel's graceful wife was something of a spoilt child in her ways; and resolute as he could show himself in other directions, he seldom had the will to oppose her seriously. "Indeed, I should say so too," struck in Mrs. Bryce. "You don't desire to turn him into a nincompoop; and between you and Molly, my dear Harriette, he hasn't a chance. School will make a man of him. And what's to become of Molly?" [Illustration: THE MESSAGE OF THE MARGUERITES. From the Painting by COMTE. GIRL'S OWN PAPER. ORFORD SMITH, L^{D.} S^{t.} Albans. LONDON.] Mrs. Baron was still gently dabbing her eyes with the square of lace, and the Colonel answered-- "My wife's step-mother wishes to have Molly in Bath for a visit. She will travel thither with Polly early next week." "Too much gadding about. Not the sort of way I was brought up, nor you either. But everything is turned upside-down in these days. And you've persuaded Captain Ivor to go too?" "He will go with us to Paris." "And you're quite content to put yourselves into the clutches of that miserable Boney!" "My dear madam, the First Consul does not wage war on unoffending travellers. Even supposing that hostilities should break out sooner than may reasonably be expected, we have then but to hasten home." "Boney doesn't care what he does, so long as he can get his own way." "He will, at least, act in accordance with the laws of civilised nations." "Not he! Boney makes his own laws to suit himself." "Well, well, my dear madam, we view these things differently. And since I have fully made up my mind, all this discussion is a waste of good breath. My wife has never been into France, and I desire that she should go. We may not have another opportunity for many years to come." "Likely enough--while the Corsican lives!" muttered Mrs. Bryce. The end window opened upon a kind of verandah, and just outside this window, which had been thrown wide open--for it was an unusually hot spring day--a boy lay flat upon the ground, shaping a small wooden boat with his penknife. At the first mention of his name, a fair curly head popped up and popped down again. A recurrence of the word "Roy" brought up the head a second time, and two wide grey eyes stared eagerly over the low sill into the room. He might have been seen easily enough, but that people were too busy to look that way. Then again the head vanished, and its owner lay motionless, apparently listening for two or three minutes, after which he rolled away to a short distance, jumped up, and scampered off to the schoolroom at the back of the house.