But the honest mood could not last. In the same breath she hastened on, "Yes, yes, France, the beloved of us proud grandchildren of original dukes. Of myself, sir, with a chateau in the Bourbonnais, whose floors are as well watered as the vineyards outside. And your France too, Michel, giving you only your clean linen to disguise the sergeant and remind us of the marshal of the First Empire. Of course," she added kindly, "there is the bravery. I had forgotten that, O grandson of the 'brave des braves.' But then?--Bonte divine, there's no rank in courage, mon ami! It's not the epaulette of a French uniform--it's the merest lining." "And that," the youth cried doggedly, "is still enough to----" "To do things for France, eh petit piou-piou?" "Helas! our France can't expect much from me. But you, mademoiselle, you will do things for her!" It was a spontaneous tribute, just that, without thought of prying into the secret of her mission, "While I," he ended dismally, "can only fight." "But you forget," she answered gravely, "that after all a woman can only give." That cynicism of life which had become a part of the young girl was yet gaiety itself. Youth and health and beauty would not have even cynicism otherwise. But now, as she spoke, the irony was bitter, and worn, as of age. And behind it was a woman's reluctance before some abhorred sacrifice, a sacrifice which would entail the woman's power to give. Ney stared at her uncomprehendingly. Here lay a clue to her mysterious errand in Mexico. But he was not thinking of her as the Napoleonic enigma personified. It was of herself he thought, an enigma apart. She was a flower of France. Yet many, many flowers blossom there. She might be a grande dame, of nobility of womanhood as well as of family. Or again, she might be only an alluring, heartless witch, that helped to make tempting, and damnable, the brilliant Second Empire. But in any case, Jacqueline was truly as dainty as a flower. "It has already cost us enough to gain this New World," ventured the Chasseur, waving a hand toward the desolate shore, "and we made Maximilian emperor, but now they say that, that he would--they say so in Paris, mademoiselle--that he would rob us of it." "Indeed, monsieur?" There was warning in the look she gave him. "But," he plunged on boldly, "our soldiers still hold it, that is, until, until someone shall win it for us for our very own, absolutely. Ducal grandfathers never did more than that for France." "Where _are_ you leading, Michel? Please take me with you." "To a question. Don't you think 'someone' is risking a great deal for a little walk on shore?" Before she answered he knew that she had seen through all his blundering wiles. "Are there guerrillas there?" she asked pensively. "_You_ should know. But they say, that out of Tampico especially----" She was gazing toward the land, sandy and flat. Once she looked back with lively distaste at the rocking ship. Now she interrupted.