During his voyage, he wrote more than once to his uncle.  Three weeks, however, rolled by and they received no news.  M. de Vermondans complained of his silence—­Alete sought to excuse him.  Ebba suffered in silence.  After the departure of her cousin, the delicate young girl had sunken into a state of sadness which daily assumed a more dangerous character.  She loved to sit alone, looking toward the south, as if there lay her last hope.  She sometimes tried to read, but from her very look it was plain that her mind was unoccupied.  If she saw her father, she sought to smile and appear gay to soothe him; as soon, however, as he left, she became prostrate again.  Her cheeks grew thin and flushed, she was ill, and the physicians were sent for—­one said she had a slow fever, another that she was consumptive.  Ebba carefully followed their advice, and did all that her father and sister recommended.  When alone, she shook her head as if she thought all remedies in vain.

Two weeks passed without a word from Ireneus.  What was he about?  It was Known that he had passed through Paris, and should be in La Vendee.  Could he not correspond with his friends?  Could his letters have been intercepted?  Might he not already have fallen a victim to his chivalric ardor, and be wounded, a prisoner, perhaps dead!

The post was looked for with anxiety.  The newspapers were read anxiously.  Vain hope! those of Sweden gave very meager details of the legitimist movement.

At last M. de Vermondans became angry and humiliated at suffering his impatience to become manifest, and forbade Ireneus or La Vendee to be mentioned.  He could not, however, stifle thought in his own mind or in Ebba’s.

One morning the young girl arose in great distress, and with a feverish agitation which made her look better.  She dressed hastily, and went to her father’s room.  She said she wanted to see her sister.

“Really,” said the old man, deceived by this deceitful animation, and quivering with joy at the idea of her recovery.  “Do you wish to go?  I will go with you.”

He hurried to the stable, had his horse harnessed, and in a few minutes, seated in his cabriolet, was crossing the fields.  On her way, Ebba, with peculiar tenderness, pointed out various scenes of her childhood and youth, the home of old servants, spots where she had been with Alete, and made memorable by various little incidents.

Suddenly she ceased to speak—­looked at the scenery with deep interest glancing at the sea and the sky, and seemed absorbed in a melancholy reminiscence.

Her father had listened to her with pleasure, and turned to ask why she was silent.  He was filled with delight.  Had he been able, however, to look into her mind, he would have seen a deep sentiment of sadness and resignation, united with resignation and hopelessness.