She stepped softly nearer to them.

She laid her hand on Marteau's shoulder.
"Monsieur--Jean," she said, and there was a long pause between the two words, "I would that I could grant your request, but it is--you see--you know I cannot.

I am betrothed to Captain Yeovil, with my uncle's consent, of course.

I am a very unhappy woman," she ended, although just what she meant by that last sentence she hardly knew.
"And this Captain Yeovil, he is a soldier ?" asked Marteau.
"Under Wellington," answered the father.
"Now may God grant that I may meet him!" "You'll find him a gallant officer," answered the sturdy old Englishman proudly.
"When I think of his father I know that to be true," was the polite rejoinder.
The little Countess sank down on the chair, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
"Well, of all the----" began the Englishman, but the Frenchman checked him.
"Mademoiselle," he said softly, "were every tear a diamond they could not make for me so precious a diadem as they do when I think that you weep for me.

I wish you joy with your English captain.