And she almost fell forward on her knees. The Vendéan stepped back, horrified. "You,--you, too, little Mary?" he cried; "you love--" But she did not give him time to end his sentence. "Think, Jean, only think of the grief you would cause to my dear Bertha." Jean Oullier was looking at her in stupefaction, only half-relieved of the suspicion he had just conceived, when Bertha's voice was heard ordering Michel to wait for her in the garden and on no account to go away. Almost at the same moment she opened the door of her sister's room. "Well!" she exclaimed; "is this how you get ready?" Then, looking closer at Mary and noticing the trouble in her face, she continued, "What is the matter? You have been crying! And you, Jean Oullier,--you look as cross as a bear. What's going on here?" "I'll tell you what's going on, Mademoiselle Bertha," replied the Vendéan. "No, no!" exclaimed Mary; "I entreat you not, Jean. Hold your tongue; oh, do be silent!" "You scare me with such preambles," cried Bertha; "and Jean is looking at me with an inquisitorial air as if I had committed some great crime. Come, speak out, Jean; I am fully disposed to be kind and indulgent on this happy day, when all my most ardent dreams are realized, and I can share with men their noblest privilege of war!" "Be frank, Demoiselle Bertha," said the Vendéan; "is that the true reason why you are so joyful?" "Ha! now I see what the matter is," said Bertha, boldly facing the question. "Major-General Oullier wants to scold me for trenching on his functions." Turning to her sister, she added, "I'll bet, Mary, that it is all about my poor Michel." "Exactly, mademoiselle," said Jean Oullier, not leaving Mary time to answer. "Well, what have you to say about him, Jean? My father is delighted to get another adherent, and I can't see anything in that to make you frown." "Your father may like it," replied the old keeper, "but it doesn't suit the rest of us; we have other ideas." "May I be allowed to know them?" "We think each side should stay in its own camp." "Well?" "Well what?" "Go on; finish what you mean to say." "I mean to say that Monsieur Michel's place is not with us." "Why not? Monsieur Michel is royalist, isn't he? I think he has given proof enough during the last two days of his devotion to the cause." "That may be; but all the same, Demoiselle Bertha, we peasants have a way of saying, 'Like father, like son,' and therefore we don't believe in Monsieur Michel's royalism." "He will force you to believe in it." "Possibly; meanwhile--" The Vendéan frowned. "Meanwhile, what?" said Bertha. "Well, I tell you, it will be painful to old soldiers like me to march cheek by jowl with a man we don't respect." "What possible blame can you put on him?" asked Bertha, beginning to show some bitterness. "Much." "Much means nothing unless you specify it." "Well, his father, his birth--"