She looked round the quiet room. Some fruit was boiling on a stove, giving out a fragrant savour, and Elise’s eye was on it mechanically. A bit of sewing lay across a chair, and on the wall hung a military suit of the old sergeant, beside it a short sabre. An old Tricolor was draped from a beam, and one or two maps of France were pinned on the wall. She fastened her look on the maps. They seemed to be her cue. “Have you any influence with your uncle?” she asked. Elise remained gloomily silent. “Because,” Madame Chalice went on smoothly, ignoring her silence, “I think it would be better for him to go back to Ville Bambord--I am sure of it.” The girl’s lip curled angrily. What right had this great lady to interfere with her or hers? What did she mean? “My uncle is a general and a brave man; he can take care of himself,” she answered defiantly. Madame Chalice did not smile at the title. She admired the girl’s courage. She persisted however. “He is one man, and--” “He has plenty of men, madame, and His Excellency--” “His Excellency and hundreds of men cannot stand, if the Government send soldiers against them.” “Why should the Gover’ment do that? They’re only going to France; they mean no trouble here.” “They have no right to drill and conspire here, my girl.” “Well, my uncle and his men will fight; we’ll all fight,” Elise retorted, her hands grasping the arms of the rocking-chair she sat in. “But why shouldn’t we avoid fighting? What is there to fight for? You are all very happy here. You were very happy here before Monsieur Valmond came. Are you happy now?” Madame Chalice’s eyes searched the flushed face anxiously. She was growing more eager every moment to serve, if she could, this splendid creature. “We would die for him!” answered the girl quickly. “You would die for him,” came the reply, slowly, meaningly. “And what’s it to you, if I would?” came the sharp retort. “Why do you fine folk meddle yourselves with poor folk’s affairs?” Then, remembering she was a hostess, with the instinctive courtesy of her race, she said: “Ah, pardon, madame; you meant nothing, I’m sure.” “Why should fine folk make poor folk unhappy?” said Madame Chalice, quietly and sorrowfully, for she saw that Elise was suffering, and all the woman in her came to her heart and lips. She laid her hand on the girl’s arm. “Indeed yes, why should fine folk make poor folk unhappy? It is not I alone who makes you unhappy, Elise.” The girl angrily shook off the hand, for she read the true significance of the words. “What are you trying to find out?” she asked fiercely. “What do you want to do? Did I ever come in your way? Why do you come into mine? What’s my life to you? Nothing, nothing at all. You’re here to-day and away to-morrow. You’re English; you’re not of us. Can’t you see that I want to be left alone?