three young people) said one virile word which might have brought matters to a crisis between Laurence and her cousins.  He was struck with the sincerity of the brothers; he saw how the one could be glad at the happiness of the other and yet suffer anguish in the depths of his heart, and he did perceive how a woman might shrink from showing tenderness to one which would grieve the other.  This perception on Robert’s part was a just one; it explains a situation which, in times of faith, when the sovereign pontiff had power to intervene and cut the Gordian knot of such phenomena (allied to the deepest and most impenetrable mysteries), would have found its solution.  The Revolution had deepened the Catholic faith in these young hearts, and religion now rendered this crisis in their lives the more severe, because nobility of character is ever heightened by the grandeur of circumstances.  A sense of this truth kept Monsieur and Madame d’Hauteserre and the abbe from the slightest fear of any unworthy result on the part of the brothers or of Laurence.

This private drama, secretly developing within the limits of the family life where each member watched it silently, ran its course so rapidly and withal so slowly, it carried with it so many unhoped-for pleasures, trifling jars, frustrated fancies, hopes reversed, anxious waitings, delayed explanations and mute avowals that the dwellers at Cinq-Cygne paid no attention to the public drama of the Emperor’s coronation.  At times these passions made a truce and sought distraction in the violent enjoyment of hunting, when weariness of body took from the soul all occasions to wander in the dangerous meadows of reverie.  Neither Laurence nor her cousins had a thought now for public affairs; each day brought its palpitating and absorbing interests for their hearts.

“Really,” said Mademoiselle Goujet one evening, “I don’t know which of all the lovers loves the most.”

Adrien, who happened to be alone in the salon with the four card-players, raised his eyes and turned pale.  For the last few days his only hold on life had been the pleasure of seeing Laurence and of listening to her.

“I think,” said the abbe, “that the countess, being a woman, loves with the greater abandonment to love.”

Laurence, the twins, and Robert entered the room soon after.  The newspapers had just arrived.  England, seeing the failure of all conspiracies attempted within the borders of France, was now arming all Europe against their common enemy.  The disaster at Trafalgar had overthrown one of the most amazing plans which human genius ever conceived; by which, if it had succeeded, the Emperor would have paid the nation for his election by the ruin of the British power.  The camp at Boulogne had just been raised.  Napoleon, whose solders were, as always, inferior in numbers to the enemy, was about to carry the war into parts of Europe where he had not before waged it.  The whole world was breathless, awaiting the results of the campaign.