But you, Queen of Heaven, you know all; and, sweet mother, if you have kind sentiments towards me, poor Josephine, ah! show them now: for you know that it was I who insulted that wicked notary, and it is out of hatred to me he has sold our beloved house to a hard stranger.

Look down on me, a child who loves her mother, yet will destroy her unless you pity me and help me.

Oh! what shall I say ?--what shall I do?
mercy! mercy! for my poor mother, for me!" Here her utterance was broken by sobs.
The soldier withdrew his foot quietly.

Her words had knocked against his very breast-bone.

He marched slowly to and fro before the chapel, upright as a dart, and stiff as a ramrod, and actually pale: for even our nerves have their habits; a woman's passionate grief shook him as a cannon fired over his head could not.
Josephine little thought who was her sentinel.