CHAPTER XXVIII.
Marie Havet, née Dupré, was much surprised and somewhat concerned on the evening of the day upon which Louise had found, to her almost uncontrollable joy and relief, that Henri was still alive and in Paris when her sister, looking very grave and with signs of tears and past agitation upon her face, drew her aside for a conversation, which, said Louise, must be held absolutely in private. Marie's conscience instantly smote her. She was going to be scolded for saying nothing about the Baron's visit.
"Marie," Louise began, "you may have observed that I returned from the war depressed, not joyous and elated as one returning home after many perils and who has received certain honours and rewards might be expected to be. Did it never occur to you and to my father that this was so?"
"It occurred to both of us, sister, that you were naturally depressed, that your career of success and glory should be already over and that you must return to the ordinary dull routine of home and of the sex to which you belong."
"You were mistaken in the reason, sister. I am tired to death of my uniform, and of masquerading as a man. I shall thank God to be a woman once more as the Seigneur created me. But that is another matter. My depression was due to reasons very different. You may remember to have seen here a certain Baron Henri d'Estreville."
Marie flushed and sat down. Her scolding was coming, then; Louise had somehow heard of the Baron's visit. This was a matter Louise would not easily forgive.
"Yes, I remember him. He came with Monsieur de Tourelle, the finest fencer in Paris, who nevertheless was unable to have the better of our little Louise."
"Bah!—let that pass. With this D'Estreville I fell in love, Marie—why, there is no reason to look surprised. We are women both, you and I; you were not ashamed to love and to marry, why should not I have loved?"
"It is true—it is true," Marie murmured.