At the Palais d'armes of old Pierre DuprÉ there was excitement. Both Karl Havet, Marie's fiancÉ, and young Maux, the second assistant, had received their conscription notices; both had been drawn; unless physically unfit or unsound, both men must serve in Napoleon's new and greatest army.

Maux was in excellent spirits. Being a splendidly built young fellow, lithe and strong as a leopard, there was no doubt whatever as to his fitness.

"I shall come back a sergeant, Monsieur," he said; "you shall see; it may even be that I shall gain a commission in the field—such things have happened before now!"

Old Pierre nodded approvingly. "You are going forth in the proper spirit, my son," he said; then he glanced sadly at Karl Havet, who sat with Marie conversing dejectedly over his conscription notice, and sighed. "Would it were the same there!" he added.

Louise fired up and spoke.

"You are not fair to them, father," she said. "You have no sympathy for the natural feelings. They were to be married in a month; they love one another; it is hard for them. If you were generous you would furnish a substitute for Karl."

"Mon Dieu, Louise, is it you that talk thus, you?" exclaimed the old man; "then indeed I do not recognise my own child. A substitute, when the Emperor has called him to arms? Shame!"

"It will break Marie's heart, be sure of that; she has been a good daughter to you, father; it is due to her that you should assist her in this emergency. Karl has no money to pay for a substitute—you have plenty. Let him stay a while at least with his wife. Be sure this will not be the last war; so long as the Emperor lives and Europe is not yet a province of France, there will be wars and wars. It is not right that they should be separated."

"Bah—you speak foolishly, like a woman; you disappoint me, Louise, you that have ever shown a spirit above that of a woman. As for separation, if Marie is so foolish as to depend upon the presence of a lover for her happiness, why should they be separated? Let her go also!"

"Father, what do you mean?" said Louise, gazing blankly at the old man; "do you rave?"

"On the contrary, never was I more serious. Marie is as good a man as the best; she lacks but the pantaloons—eh bien! There are many fools under conscription orders who will be glad of a substitute. Let her go to the war with her Karl, since they dread separation; she will be the happier and the richer too, for she will touch the money of some coward or fool who is ready to pay for his own dishonour—voilÀ tout!"

"And you, father, could your mind rest in peace if your child were exposed thus to the risks of war?"

Old Pierre started from his seat with an exclamation of impatience.

"Sapristi, Louise my child, you grow more foolish each minute! Do you not know that it is the one grievance of my life that I have no sons to fight for France? If I had a son and he went forth to battle, think you I should sit at home to weep in anguish of anxiety until he returned safely to the fireside? God forbid; I should thank Him daily, each minute, that I, too, had been found worthy to provide one soldier for France. Why then should I feel differently if I possessed a daughter who, thanks to her own fine spirit and to the training I have given her, had risen superior to the weakness of her sex and gone forth as a man to do a man's work in the world? I should thank God all the more—yes, and I should love my child the more, more by a hundred times."

Louise was silent. Now that her father explained his view of the matter she recognised that it was, after all, perfectly consistent with his character that he should think thus. That any one else should think the same way, however, was quite a different matter. Marie, for instance, would probably consider the idea a ridiculous one; her fiancÉ, Karl, was certain to laugh the suggestion to scorn, and yet Louise, to her surprise, found that she herself had listened to her father's words without the impatient amazement which so wild a proposal might have aroused in her. To her mind, trained as she had been, the idea of a woman assuming the dress of a man and enlisting as a man in the army of her country was neither absolutely new nor absolutely impossible. Louise knew, almost by heart, the story of Mademoiselle de Maupin, who had done this very thing a century ago; her career was a favourite theme of old Pierre's, who had drummed it into the ears of his daughters since they were children. Certainly if any woman could imitate Mademoiselle de Maupin with success, it was Marie. But Marie was in love and about to be married; she possessed no longer the manly spirit which would render such a thing possible, and Karl would certainly reject the idea.

"Suggest to them your scheme, father," she said; "but I warn you that they will not receive it seriously."

Marie flushed a little when the strange idea was mentioned to her; then she laughed and asked Karl what he thought of it.

"It is madness," said Karl, glancing indignantly at old Pierre. "That a man who loves a woman, whether as father or lover, should be willing to submit her to the shame and the thousand risks involved in such a scheme, is madness and worse. Thank God, I am not so selfish, Marie. Rather a million times, I will go alone."

Old Pierre shrugged his shoulders. "As you like," he said. "It is my misfortune. What other reply should I expect from a man who goes out unwillingly to serve his country?"

"As for that," said Karl boldly, "if I possessed money I should certainly procure a substitute; having none, I must go; it is hard, Marie, but—que faire? it is necessity that drives us apart."

Marie burst into tears and the unfortunate lovers left the room together.

"Bah!" said old Pierre, not untouched by his daughter's sorrow. "It is a misfortune—it is a disaster; see, Louise, how this foolish weakness called 'love' spoils not only a splendid woman, but a good man also. Karl is not a coward, and yet——"

"No—Karl is no coward, and Marie still less," said Louise, perfectly miserable. "Father, let a substitute be found—it is hard for them! You do not grudge the money, that I know!"

"My daughter, I would spend the money ten times to have Karl go willingly; to keep him at home, I will not spend it once; what, pay for the dishonour of one who would marry my child? God forbid!" Old Pierre left the room.

"It is an impasse" he exclaimed at the door. "I am sorry this has happened; but in honour there is only one course."

An hour later Louise still sat where the rest had left her. Soon after her father's departure an idea had occurred to her—an idea which evidently interested and absorbed her so fully that for a whole hour she sat motionless, thinking deeply, with set mouth and flushed face. The opening of the door startled her, and she looked up to see Henri d'Estreville entering the room, a sight which added a still deeper wave of colour to the flush of excitement which already darkened her cheek.

"Mademoiselle Louise," said Henri, "I have come to bid you farewell."

"Yes, farewell," murmured Louise, "I knew you would be going."

"I am happy to know that Mademoiselle has devoted a thought to me; it is right that it should be so, for indeed I have many for you, Mademoiselle."

"You go to the war," Louise murmured, speaking as though in a dream; "so should all brave men go; oh, Monsieur, it is grand to be a man, to take a great part in the affairs of life; to move and live and fight, while others remain at home to weep and think with folded hands. To which army corps is Monsieur attached?"

"To that of Ney," said Henri, puzzled by the mood of Louise. Evidently he had surprised her in a moment of unusual softness. Henri had thought, more than once, that the attitude of Louise towards himself indicated a certain partiality. To-day he was almost certain of it.

"Ah, Ney! glorious, splendid Ney, Bravest of the brave! Then I may picture you, Monsieur, as for ever in the thick of the fighting; I shall think of you, Monsieur, be sure; will you also think of me?"

"Assuredly, Louise."

"And how?"

"As of one who, perhaps, sits and waits until a—a certain young soldier returns to repeat to her, as now from his very heart he tells her, that in absence it was her image——"

"Oh, Monsieur," Louise laughed, "not so! sits and waits! Yes, perhaps; but not in spirit! In spirit, Monsieur, I, too, shall be with Ney, fighting with him and with you the battles of my country; suffering hardships, wounds, death maybe, God knows; think of me thus!"

"Yes, I will think thus of you, Mademoiselle; and when I return——"

"Oh, Monsieur, 'sufficient for the day is the evil'. How know you that you will return, or if you return that you will find me?"

"I shall return, Louise; I have no presentiment that evil lies before me; certainly I shall return, and as for finding you, that is a matter of course."

"What if you do not seek me, Monsieur? or if, when you seek me, you do not find me?"

"To the first I reply that I shall desire you, Louise, as the miner longs for light and air; why should I not find you? I will ask you to wait for my return, Mademoiselle!"

"Yes, I will wait for you, Monsieur, if I am alive."

"Then farewell, Mademoiselle; in that hope I shall live." Henri drew her to him. "Upon your lips," he said, "I seal my promise to return." Louise did not resist.

"It is true that I love you, Monsieur," she said; "I that never thought to love a man!"

"By the Saints," Henri murmured, as he hastened away, "that is an easier conquest than I expected. Moreover, she is splendid. It is certain," he reflected five minutes later, "that I have never been nearer to falling in love than at this moment—be careful, Henri."

"When I return," his thoughts ran presently, "there will be some pleasant hours to spend in tilling this virgin soil—tiens! I wish I was not going so soon!"

Then Henri d'Estreville proceeded with his farewell visits, which included affecting leave-takings with several ladies of his acquaintance.

Louise sat dreaming for half an hour. Then she rose with flushed face.

"Of course," she muttered, "it is the only way, and what better could there be? I will do it at once."

When the household of Pierre DuprÉ sat down to dinner, Louise was absent. The rest, with the exception of young Maux, were silent and depressed. When Louise came in her eyes shone brightly, her cheeks were flushed, and she smiled with some embarrassment as she laid by her sister's plate a folded paper. Marie took it up and glanced at it. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation.

"What is it—what have you done, Louise?" she cried. "It is a demission, Karl, in your name, in respect of a substitute 'Michel Prevost'. Louise, did my father—oh, where did you raise the money, sister?—Oh, Karl, see, she has saved us—she has saved us!"

"What mean you?" exclaimed old Pierre. "What have you done, Louise? You have paid for a substitute for Karl? By all the gods, child, I will not have it; it is an outrage; I will——"

"Father, let me speak," said Louise; "it is very simple. I have no money; I have paid no one. The conscript room is crowded with busy people—one has but to go up in turn to the sergeant, answer a question or two and pass on. 'Who are you?' 'Michel Prevost.' 'Conscript or substitute?' 'Substitute for Karl Havet.' 'Height?' 'Five feet seven.' 'Health?' 'Perfect'—scribble, scribble; a paper is handed you—'Drill yard at seven to-morrow—pass on!' and it is done."

"What do you mean, Louise?" exclaimed Havet, starting from his seat. "You have not——"

"Do you not understand," cried Marie, laughing hysterically, "it is Louise herself who has——"

"Yes," said Louise, "that is it, Marie; I am Michel Prevost."

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed old Pierre; "is it so indeed, Louise?"

"It is so, father; I am Private Michel Prevost; you shall have your desire at last; by my own will I am going forth. I shall be in good company, my father, for my regiment is attached to the corps d'armÉe of Marshal Ney himself; hear you that? I shall fight under his colours, the Bravest of the brave. Are you satisfied, father, have I done well? And you, Marie, are you satisfied?"

"Sister, you cannot, you shall not; it is ridiculous—you jest!" cried Marie.

"God forbid. I do not jest! Let no one dare thwart me by revealing my secret"—Louise looked round with smiling face but blazing eye—"You, Karl, or you, Georges, for I swear I will split with my rapier him who so does! I am a soldier of Ney's army, remember that, mes amis!" Louise ended with a loud laugh; she saluted the company military fashion and left the room.

For a moment a silence fell upon all present, then old Pierre's voice was heard repeating the "Nunc Dimittis" in Latin.