Vera now had leisure to examine her protectors more closely; one was a dapper little corporal who made eyes at her as she looked at him. She quickly withdrew her gaze and fixed it upon the other, a handsome, dark-eyed and eyelashed sergeant of a line regiment. This man had been the spokesman. Vera started slightly as she looked at him.

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, "what an extraordinary likeness! I beg a thousand pardons, Monsieur; it is very rude of me; my first expression should have been one of grateful thanks. You have preserved me, Monsieur, from persecution, I am indeed grateful."

The young sergeant bowed.

"Mademoiselle does us too much honour," he replied. "Rochefort, mon cher, if you will excuse me, I will see this lady to her home, it is not right that you should walk alone in the city, Mademoiselle, at present." The little corporal made a grimace.

"Rascal!" he whispered, "you always come in for the good things!" He took his departure, however, after bestowing upon Vera his most fascinating smile together with a low bow and a ferocious wink of the left eye.

Vera gazed at her companion, examining him from head to foot as he watched his comrade depart. The sergeant turned when he had seen the other safely to the end of the street.

"I see," said Vera, "that it is to an old acquaintance that I am indebted for this great service. I thank you heartily. But is the French Emperor so badly off for men to march against our poor Russia that he must needs enrol women as soldiers, Mademoiselle Louise?"

The sergeant blushed scarlet. "For God's sake be careful of your words, Mademoiselle," he said. "Of course it is unknown that I am I. You are the first who has guessed it. I entreat you to keep my secret."

"That of course. In Heaven's name, why have you done it? May I know this?"

"It is easily told, Mademoiselle, to you, who I do not doubt will appreciate my motives and forgive me." Louise narrated to her companion the story of the conscription, of young Havet's trouble and her sister Marie's; "therefore I became his substitute," she ended, "et voilÀ tout!"

"Is it really all, Mademoiselle Louise?" said Vera. "I confess that I fancied there might be another motive for your conduct." Louise walked silently for a little while.

"It is true that I love him," she murmured at length; "yes, Mademoiselle, with all my heart of hearts. I could not bear to be so far from him."

Vera laughed. "Mon Dieu, Louise, you are a wonderful person! It is sad, however, that you should have staked your happiness upon my cousin, who is——"

"Not dead, Mademoiselle—for God's sake dare not to tell me he is dead?"

"Dead? Oh no, not that, I saw him but yesterday and spoke to him."

"You did, Mademoiselle—here, in Moscow? Oh, thank God—thank God! Mademoiselle, I have been in terror and tribulation about him; I left him near Smolensk, badly wounded in the shoulder, I was driven from him to join the colours and knew not whether he lived or died."

"Yes, he lives and is well, though he looks like a dead man or near it. So he knows you are with the army. Beware, Louise, you are playing a dangerous game. My cousin will not respect one who thus follows him and avows her love. Moreover, your conduct——"

"Mademoiselle—pardon—he does not know it. Thank God, I am more modest than you suppose! Also he has avowed his love for me—he did so before leaving Paris; still, I have not revealed myself, lest he should disapprove of my action. I am not—not the kind that Mademoiselle supposes."

"Forgive me, Louise; I meant my warning to be very friendly. I am rejoiced to hear what you have said. As to his vows of love, however, do not trust him too much. I know my cousin so well. He has loved many times."

"Mademoiselle, I also know this, and more besides. At Smolensk, as he lay tossing in fever, a wonderful thing happened; not knowing that I was I, the Baron narrated to me many of his past love affairs, declaring at the last that he remembered only one of those for whom he had felt affection, and that one was, said he, the daughter of Pierre DuprÉ, maÎtre d'armes; imagine, Mademoiselle, my happiness to hear this from him, and to receive a message from his lips to be carried to this Louise DuprÉ in case of his death."

Louise was flushed and her eyes were bright with love-light. Vera looked at her companion and laughed merrily.

"I certainly think it the most promising of Henri's love affairs that I have yet heard of," she said; "if I see Henri again——"

"Oh, Mademoiselle, for Heaven's sake keep my secret; what would he think—he might say angry words—he might——"

"No, no, your secret is safe; I was going to say—I will ask him to tell me of his sickness at Smolensk; perhaps he will confide to me the tale you have just told me; that would prove that he did not suspect you to be yourself."

"Oh, Mademoiselle, I am sure he did not, or he would not have told me all that he did of—of other matters," Louise blushed; and Vera laughed and said that perhaps that was so.

"At any rate I should keep your secret," she added, "even if I saw my cousin again, which is unlikely. I cannot associate, you see, with Russia's enemies, even though they be personal friends or near relations. There are those who would blame me much for walking with yourself in this way, if they were to see us together. We must not meet again in Moscow. I see you have had promotion; you wear a sergeant's stripes; doubtless for some service done to your Emperor at the expense of my poor country."

"At Borodino; the service was small enough and not worth narrating. I have learnt, Mademoiselle, that war is detestable, and the taking of life a most terrible thing; I shall shed no more blood, if I can help it."

"This is the most unjust and infernal of wars," said Vera; "all wars are abominable, but this is the worst and wickedest. Farewell, Louise, and thank you for your timely service; this is my street and that is my house. I hope that some day, if happier times should come, we may perhaps be cousins."

"Oh, Mademoiselle, may that day dawn indeed—and soon!" Louise raised Vera's hand to her lips and departed with a salute.

Unfortunately Sasha Maximof, looking out from a window for Vera's return, saw this little demonstration, and the sight depressed and angered him.

"I see," he said, as Vera entered, "that you have discovered another acquaintance among the French, and, as it seems, another admirer."

"Ah, in this case the admiration is truly mutual," Vera replied gravely, though with a twinkle in her eye. "Do you know, Sasha, mon ami, that though, speaking generally, I hate all French soldiers, at this time, I am so greatly indebted to this one and love him so well——"

"Love him?" Sasha echoed miserably. "Oh! then this is the one."

"Yes, this is the one; our friendship is great, but perhaps one day it will be greater; he has this day avowed to me——" Vera paused. Sasha continued her sentence—"His passion, I suppose. You have not accepted him, Vera—a Frenchman? Did you not tell me you would only marry a Russian?"

"Did I? I had forgotten. Well, we shall see. What was I saying?—Oh, this dear, adorable soldier. He has avowed to me, mon ami, that he hopes one day to become a near relation."

"Vera!" gasped Sasha, "are you mocking me?"

"On the contrary, I am confiding to you a great secret which I forbid you to disclose to any living soul. This dear Frenchman, who has this day done me a great service of which I will tell you presently and for which I should like to show my gratitude in a fervent kiss——"

"Vera!" Sasha gasped.

"Do not interrupt me, mon ami; this dear Frenchman is, in fact, not a Frenchman nor a Russian; he is not, indeed, a man of any nationality whatever—but a woman masquerading as a man, and all for love of my cousin Henri d'Estreville. Think of it!"

Vera exploded in a fit of merry laughter, to which the expression in Sasha's face soon added an extra note of mirth. The laughing did her good, for indeed there had been little of late to promote mirth in this unhappy city of Moscow.

Afterwards there were explanations and apologies, and if Sasha Maximof contrived to gather another grain of encouragement for his hopes, this was not more, perhaps, than was intended.