'I could have guessed as much,' said the girl.
'How, Mademoiselle?
'By a certain boldness in your bearing, and by something in your eyes that tells of——' she paused shyly and coloured at her own impetuosity.
'An expression that tells of what?' asked Charlie.
'I don't know, unless it is of—sorrow.'
'You are an acute observer, Mademoiselle,' said Charlie, bowing. 'I have indeed undergone much sorrow but lately.'
The girl had a pretty, innocent, and most lovable little face. She was, probably, half German in blood; her eyes were bright blue; her cheeks delicate and peach-like; her lips a ruddy red, though cheek and lips were ashy white with terror when Charlie first saw her, being pulled about roughly by the Bavarians, who had boisterously dragged her from one another, under the eyes of her helpless and agonized father.
She nestled up to Charlie's side, and shaking the masses of her rich brown hair—hair that in its tint reminded him of Herminia—she put a pretty hand on each of his epaulettes, and looking into his face with pure childish confidence, said—
'I shall like you. I am sure I shall. I am so happy you are not one of those barbarians, though you do wear a spike-helmet!'
'Why? How should you like me?'