few days, had appeared in her face, together with other little signs not to be hidden in the silence and tranquillity of such a life, had roused the fears of these submissive royalists.  Still, as no event happened, and perfect quiet appeared to reign in the political atmosphere, the minds of the little household were soothed into peace, and the countess’s long rides were one more attributed to her passion for hunting.

It is easy to imagine the deep silence which reigned at nine o’clock in the evening in the park, courtyards, and gardens of Cinq-Cygne, where at that particular moment the persons we have described were harmoniously grouped, where perfect peace pervaded all things, where comfort and abundance were again enjoyed, and where the worthy and judicious old gentleman was still hoping to convert his late ward to his system of obedience to the ruling powers by the argument of what we may call the continuity of prosperous results.

These royalists continued to play their boston, a game which spread ideas of independence under a frivolous form over the whole of France; for it was first invented in honor of the American insurgents, its very terms applying to the struggle which Louis XVI. encouraged.  While making their “independences” and “poverties,” the players kept an eye on the countess, who had fallen asleep, overcome by fatigue, with a singular smile on her lips, her last waking thought having been of the terror two words could inspire in the minds of the peaceful company by informing the d’Hauteserres that their sons had passed the preceding night under that roof.  What young girl of twenty-three would not have been, as Laurence was, proud to play the part of Destiny? and who would not have felt, as she did, a sense of compassion for those whom she felt to be so far below her in loyalty?

“She sleeps,” said the abbe.  “I have never seen her so wearied.”

“Durieu tells me her mare is almost foundered,” remarked Madame d’Hauteserre.  “Her gun has not been fired; the breech is clean; she has evidently not hunted.”

“Oh! that’s neither here nor there,” said the abbe.

“Bah?” cried Mademoiselle Goujet; “when I was twenty-three and saw I should be an old maid all my life, I rushed about and fatigued myself in a dozen ways.  I understand how the countess can scour the country for hours without thinking of the game.  It is nearly twelve years now since she has seen her cousins, and you know she loves them.  Well, if I were she, if I were as young and pretty, I’d make a straight line for Germany!  Poor darling, perhaps she is thinking of the frontier, and that may be the reason why she rides so far towards it.”

“You are rather giddy, Mademoiselle Goujet,” said the abbe, smiling.

“Not at all,” she replied.  “I see you all uneasy about the goings on of a young girl, and I am explaining them to you.”

“Her cousins will submit and return soon; they will all be rich, and she will end by calming down,” said old d’Hauteserre.