"They die sometimes, though your brother does his best to prevent it.
It promises to be a hard season for them."
"I wish I could help; but Endymion—my brother does not approve of ladies mixing themselves up in these affairs."
"Yet he has carried off half-a-dozen to the supper-room, where at a side table three of my compatriots are vending knick-knacks, to add a little beef to their ragoûts."
"Is it that which has annoyed General Rochambeau?"
She had recognised the phrase, but let it pass.
"It is."
She understood. For some reason her brain was unusually clear tonight. At any other time she would have defended, or at least excused, her brother. She knew it, and found time to wonder at her new practicality as she answered:
"I must think of some way to help."
She saw his brow clear—saw that had risen in his esteem—and was glad.
"To you, Mademoiselle, we shall find it easy to be grateful."