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"You are cold, mademoiselle"

"I think I a"

"Yes?"

Marie had gone into the next rooard eyes

to his

"Henri," she said desperately--it was the first ti to say to you, and it's not very pleasant"

"You are going ho he could think of But

she shook her head

"You will think rateful and unkind"

"You? Kindness itself!"

"But this is different It is not for reat deal about--about--"

"Made, when I found you here

asleep, and those poor fellows in the trenches fighting--"

Henri stared at her So that was it! And he could never tell her He

orn to secrecy by every tradition and instinct of his work He

could never tell her, and she would go on thinking hirateful She would be sweetness itself But

deep in her heart she would loathe hiive