“His will be done.  He may yet turn away from us this misery.  We may yet live, Charles, to look on these things as our dearest reminiscences.”

“We may; but it is not the chance for which we should be best prepared.  We are not to expect that God will raise his arm especially to vindicate our injuries; it would be all but blasphemous to ask Him to do so.  We are but a link in the chain of events which His wisdom has designed.  Should we wish that that chain should be broken for our purposes?”

“Surely not.  I would not be so presumptuous as to name my own wishes in my prayers to the Creator.”

“No; leave it to His wisdom to arrange our weal or woe in this world; satisfied with this, that He has promised us happiness in the world which is to come.”

“I must leave you on Monday, dearest,” continued he, after a pause, during which he sat with his wife’s hand within his own.

“So soon, Charles!”

“Yes, dearest, on Monday.  Henri, and Adolphe, and others, will be here on Sunday; and our different duties will commence immediately.”

“And will yours keep you altogether away from Clisson?”

“Very nearly so; at any rate, I could not name the day or the week, when I might be with you.  You and Marie will be all in all to each other now; do not let her droop and grow sad, Victorine.”

“Nay, Charles, it is she should comfort me; she loves no dear husband.  Marie dotes on you; but she can never feel for a brother, as I must feel for you.”

“She is younger than you, Victorine, and has not your strength of mind.”

“She has fewer cares to trouble her; but we will help each other; it will be much to me to have her with me in your absence.  I know she is giving up much in returning to Clisson, and she does it solely for my sake.”

“How! what is she giving up?  Will she not be better in her own home than elsewhere in such times as these.”

“She might choose to change her home, Charles; I had a happy, happy home, but I should not have been contented to remain there till now.  I found that something more than my own old home was necessary to my happiness.”

“You have made but a sad exchange, my love.”

“Would I for all the world recall what I have done?  Have I ever repented?  Shall I ever repent?  No; not though your body were brought breathless to your own hall door, would I exchange my right to mourn over it, for the lot of the happiest bride just stepping from the altar in all the pride of loveliness and rank?”

“My own true love.  But tell me, what is this you mean about Marie.  Surely she is not betrothed without my knowledge.”

“Betrothed!  Oh, no!  Nor won, nor wooed, as far as I believe; but we women, Charles, see through each other’s little secrets.  I think she is not indifferent to Henri Larochejaquelin; and how should she be!  How few she sees from whom to choose; and if all France were before her feet, how could she make a better choice than him.”