rising to my full height beside her. "Tell me, ma'm'selle, have I hurt you?"
"No," said she, in a voice that trembled. "I am thinking—I am thinking of somebody else."
The words, spoken so slowly, so sweetly, seemed, nevertheless, to fly at me. "Of somebody else!" Whom could she mean? Had her sister told her? Did she know of my meeting with Louison? I was about to confess how deeply, how tenderly, I loved her. I had spoken the first word when this thought flashed upon me, and I halted. I could not go on.
"Ma'm'selle," I said, "I—I—if it is I of whom you are thinking, give me only your pity, and I can be content. Sometime, perhaps, I may deserve more. If I can be of any service to you, send for me—command me. You shall see I am not ungrateful. Ah, ma'm'selle," I continued, as I stood to my full height, and felt a mighty uplift in my heart that seemed to toss the words out of me, "I have a strong arm and a good sword, and the love of honor and fair women."
She wiped her eyes, and turned and looked up at me. I was no longer a sick soldier.
