"And this is what you have saved for me," he said.
Then he looked beyond, and for the first time Philip realized
there were others in the room. One was Pierre; the other a pretty,
dark-faced girl, with hair that glistened like a raven's wing in
the lamp-glow.
Jeanne left her father's arms and gave her hand to Philip.
"M'sieur Philip, this is my sister, Mademoiselle Couchee," she
cried.
Pierre's sister gave Philip her hand, and behind them D'Arcambal
laughed softly in his beard again, and said:
"To-morrow, in D'Arcambal House, you may call her Otille, Philip.
But to-night we are in Fort o' God. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, what a
witch you are!"
"An angel!" breathed Philip, but no one heard him.
"And this witch," added the old man, "you are to take in to
supper, M'sieur Philip. To night I suppose that I must call you
m'sieur, but to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings and my
skin cap, I will call you Phil, or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I
please. This is the first time, sir, that my Jeanne has ever gone
in to dinner on another arm than mine or Pierre's. And so I may be
a little jealous. Proceed."
As Jeanne's hand rested in his arm, and they went into the hall,
Philip could not restrain himself from whispering:
"I am glad--of that.
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