I knelt beside her, and prayed aloud for her and for France.

She rested her hand on my hair--her hair is black, and cut 'en ronde' like a man's.

It is true that they say, she dresses in man's garb.

We came forth together, and I put my hand into hers, and said, 'I believe in you; if none other believes, yet do I believe.' Then she wept, and she kissed me; she is to visit me here to- morrow, la fille de Dieu--" She drew a long sob, and struck her hand hard on the table; then, keeping her back ever towards me, she fled swiftly from the room.

I was amazed--so light of heart as she commonly seemed, and of late disdainful--to find her in this passion.