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Rh the lives of those dear to us—and there is also much in prayer. You will both be garmented in my prayers, whether I am here or—elsewhere; and, so far, these prayers have not proved fruitless."

There was no denying this. I could quite imagine the secret-service angel, detailed from divine headquarters in response to the good woman's application, sitting beside Rosalie in her taxi and sending her back from Meudon to Paris when Chu-Chu wanted her to wait. The same angel might also have whispered in my ear not to taste the peach ice-cream for politeness' sake. And I'm sure that he sent me about my business the night I said good-bye to Rosalie in her studio apartment. My heart grew warm as I thought of Rosalie. I knew that I loved her and wanted her for my wife—Rosalie, sweet and brave and true-hearted, and, so far as that went, as physically perfect as a man could wish. I thought again of the night when I had held her in my arms, kissing and comforting her; and last of all, though it should have been first, I thought of how she had stood by me when, spent and bloodless, I had lurched into her taxi at the gate of the Baron von Hertzfeld.

Then, one day in the autumn, when I was beginning to get round a little, Rosalie came to me and said:

"To-morrow will be Sunday, and we are going for a little picnic—just you and myself and Sœur Anne Marie. We will take the car and run out to the forest of Marly for luncheon in the woods. Sœur Anne Marie is very worn from the heat of the summer and it will do her good. You are strong