"But supposing all that is so," said Mary, whose paleness was now succeeded by a high color, and whose heart was beating as though it would break,--"supposing all that is so, where is the harm?" "Harm! Do you ask where's the harm? Why, just now my blood was boiling to see a Demoiselle de Souday-- Oh, there! there! don't let's talk of it!" "Yes, yes; on the contrary, I wish to talk of it," insisted Mary. "What was Bertha doing just now, my good Jean Oullier?" And the girl looked persuasively at the keeper. "Well, Mademoiselle Bertha de Souday tied the white scarf to Monsieur Michel's arm,--the colors borne by Charette on the arm of the son of him who-- Ah! stop, stop, little Mary; you'll make me say things I mustn't say! Little she cares--Mademoiselle Bertha--that your father is out of temper with me to-day, all about that young fellow, too." "My father! Have you been speaking to him--" Mary stopped. "Of course I have," replied Jean, taking the question in its literal sense,--"of course I have spoken to him." "When?" "This morning: first, when I brought him Petit-Pierre's letter; and then when I gave him the list of the men who are in his division, and who will march with us. I know they are not as numerous as they should be; but he who does what he can does what he ought. What do you think he answered me when I asked him if that young Monsieur Michel was really going to be one of us?" "I don't know," said Mary. "'God's death!' he cried; 'you recruit so badly that I am obliged to get some one to help your work. Yes, Monsieur Michel is one of us; and if you don't like it go and find fault with Mademoiselle Bertha.'" "He said that to you, my poor Jean?" "Yes; and I mean to have a talk with Mademoiselle Bertha, that I do." "Jean, my friend, take care!" "Take care of what?" "Take care not to grieve her, not to make her angry. She loves him, Jean," said Mary, in a voice that was scarcely audible. "Ah! then you do admit she loves him?" cried Jean Oullier. "I am forced to do so," said Mary. "Love a little puppet that a breath can tip over!" sneered Jean Oullier,--"she, Mademoiselle Bertha, change her name, one of the oldest in the land, one of the names that make our glory, the peasants' glory, as they do that of the men who bear them,--change a name like that for the name of a coward and a traitor!" Mary's heart was wrung in her bosom. "Jean, my friend," she said; "you go too far, Jean. Don't say such things, I entreat you." "It shall not be," continued Jean Oullier, paying no heed to Mary's interruption, and walking up and down the room; "no, it shall not be. If all the rest are indifferent to the family honor I will watch over it, and rather than see it tarnished I,--well, I will--" And Jean Oullier made a threatening gesture, the meaning of which was unmistakable. "No, Jean; no, you would never do that," cried Mary, in a heart-rending voice. "I implore you with clasped hands."