"There is nothing in those lines which concerns us; let me have them back." "You hold your tongue," was the brutal reply as the rough man opened the folded paper and read or tried to read what was written within.

"Blast it! it's French," was his slow exclamation after a moment spent in this way.

"See," and he thrust it towards his father who stood frowning heavily a few feet off.
"Of course, it's French," cried the girl.

"Would you write a note in English to father there?
The man's friends are French like himself, and must write in their own language." "Here take it and read it out," commanded her father; "and mind you tell us what it means.

I'll have nothing going on here that I don't understand." "Read me the French words first, miss," said I."It is my letter and I want to know what my friend has to say to me." Nodding at me with a gentle look, she cast her eyes on the paper and began to read: "Calmez vous, mon amie, il vous aime et il vous cherche.