“Well,” she said, looking at it critically, “I confess I have seen handsomer ones.” “Yes?” I encouraged, as she hesitated. “But never one I liked better,” she added, a heavenly shyness in her eyes. “Mademoiselle,” I said, suddenly taking my courage in my hands, “last night while I was unconscious I dreamed such a beautiful dream. I wonder if it was true?” She glanced again at me hastily and her cheeks were very red. “Dreams are never true,” she said decidedly. “They go by contraries. You will have to bedaub your face a little before you venture forth again.” “But the dream,” I insisted, refusing to be diverted. “Shall I tell you what it was?” “I have never been interested in dreams,” she responded calmly, and brushed from her skirt an imperceptible speck of dust. “But perhaps this one----” “Not even this one, I am sure. How long are we to remain here, M. de Tavernay?” I surrendered in despair before the coldness of her glance. “You are to remain till evening,” I replied. “But I must go at once. My first task will be to get some food. Hunger is an enemy which always returns to the attack no matter how often it is overcome.” “And so is a foe to be respected and appeased rather than despised,” she added smiling; “I came across some such observation in a book I was reading not long ago. It had a most amusing old man in it called The Partridge,[A] who was always hungry.” “I can sympathize with him,” I said. “My own stomach feels particularly empty at this moment; I must find something to fill it--and yours, too.” “But I fear for you,” she protested. “I wish you would not go. I am sure we can get through the day without starving. I should prefer to try, rather than that you should again run such risks as you did last night.” “Those risks were purely the result of my own folly,” I pointed out. “I shall not be such a fool a second time. There is a village down yonder and I shall breakfast at the inn like any other traveller. It was my haste last night which aroused suspicion. Besides,” I added, “I doubt if any one could follow even me by daylight without my perceiving it. You may have to wait an hour----” “It will not be hunger which distresses me,” she interrupted earnestly, “but fear for your safety. Let us do without the food.” “It is true we shouldn’t starve,” I admitted, “but for to-night we must be strong, ready for anything. A fast is bad preparation for the kind of work we have before us. Besides, I must find where we are, how the Republican forces are disposed, and the nearest point at which we may find friends. We must guard against the possibility of blundering haphazard into some trap and so failing at the last moment.” “You are right, of course,” she agreed instantly, though her face was very pale. “I will wait for you here, and pray for you.” She gave me her hand and I bent and kissed it with trembling lips. “There will be no danger,” I assured her again, waved my hand to her and plunged into the thicket.