Every vein in her body was humming
like a bee when she entered the house and flung herself into a
chair.
She heard Madame Roussillon and Father Beret chatting in the
kitchen, whence came a fragrance of broiling buffalo steak
besprinkled with garlic. It was Father Beret's favorite dish,
wherefore his tongue ran freely--almost as freely as that of his
hostess, and when he heard Alice come in, he called gayly to her
through the kitchen door:
"Come here, ma fille, and lend us old folks your appetite; nous
avons une tranche a la Bordelaise!"
"I am not hungry," she managed to say, "you can eat it without
me."
The old man's quick ears caught the quaver of trouble in her
voice, much as she tried to hide it. A moment later he was
standing beside her with his hand on her head.
"What is the matter now, little one?" he tenderly demanded. "Tell
your old Father."
She began to cry, laying her face in her crossed arms, the tears
gushing, her whole frame aquiver, and heaving great sobs. She
seemed to shrink like a trodden flower. It touched Father Beret
deeply.
He suspected that Beverley's departure might be the cause of her
trouble; but when presently she told him what had taken place in
the fort, he shook his head gravely and frowned.
"Colonel Clark was right, my daughter," he said after a short
silence, "and it is time for you to ponder well upon the
significance of his words.
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