"He is a bold thing," she added, turning soberly to the baroness.
"Both a bold and happy thing," I answered. "Forgive me. I should not be so bold if I were not—well—insanely happy."
"He is only a boy," said the baroness, laughing as she kissed me.
"Poor little ingénu!" said Louison, patting my arm.
Louise, tall and lovely and sedate as ever, stood near me, primping her bonnet.
"Little ingénu!" she repeated, with a faint laugh of irony as she placed the dainty thing on her head.
"Well, what do you think of him?" said Louison, turning to help her.
"Dieu! that he is very big and dreadful," said the other, soberly. "I should think we had better be going."
These things move slowly on paper, but the greeting was to me painfully short, there being of it not more than a minuteful, I should say. On our way to the lights they plied me with whispered queries, and were in fear of more fighting. The prisoners were now in the coach,
