"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle;" his manner softened as he
spoke; "I beg your pardon; but I came to speak to you about the
flag--the flag you took away from the fort."
She had been half expecting this; but she was quite unprepared,
and in spite of all she could do showed embarrassment.
"I have come to get the flag; if you will kindly bring it to me,
or tell me where it is I--"
She quickly found words to interrupt him with, and at the same
time by a great effort pulled herself together.
"You have come to the wrong place," she flung in. "I assure you
that I haven't the flag."
"You took it down, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, did I?"
"With bewitching grace you did, Mademoiselle. I saw and admired.
Will you fetch it, please?"
"Indeed I won't."
The finality in her voice belied her face, which beamed without a
ray of stubbornness or perversity. He did not know how to
interpret her; but he felt that he had begun wrong. He half
regretted that he had begun at all.
"More depends upon returning that flag than you are probably aware
of," he presently said in a more serious tone. "In fact, the life
of one of your townsmen, and a person of some importance here I
believe, will surely be saved by it. You'd better consider,
Mademoiselle. You wouldn't like to cause the death of a man."
She did not fairly grasp the purport of his words; yet the change
in his manner, and the fact that he turned from French to English
in making the statement, aroused a sudden feeling of dread or dark
apprehension in her breast.
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