Her hair, wildly disheveled, hung in glorious masses over her shoulders.

Her face beamed triumphantly.
"They are taking the fort," she breathlessly added, again urging the flag upon him, "they're going in, but I got this and ran away with it.
Hide it, Father, hide it, quick, quick, before they come!" The daring light in her eyes, the witching play of her dimples, the madcap air intensified by her attitude and the excitement of the violent exercise just ended--something compounded of all these and more--affected the good priest strangely.

Involuntarily he crossed himself, as if against a dangerous charm.
"Mon Dieu, Father Beret," she exclaimed with impatience, "haven't you a grain of sense left?
Take this flag and hide it, I tell you! Don't stay there gazing and blinking.

Here, quick! They saw me take it, they may be following me.

Hurry, hide it somewhere!" He comprehended now, rising from his knees with a queer smile broadening on his face.