cheeks and the brilliant color of their shining
eyes.

On the sofa by the fire, opposite the great armchair, the children's
mother sat among a heap of scattered garments, with a little scarlet
shoe in her hand. She seemed to have given herself up completely to the
enjoyment of the moment; wavering discipline had relaxed into a
sweet smile engraved upon her lips. At the age of six-and-thirty, or
thereabouts, she was a beautiful woman still, by reason of the rare
perfection of the outlines of her face, and at this moment light and
warmth and happiness filled it with preternatural brightness.

Again and again her eyes wandered from her children, and their tender
gaze was turned upon her husband's grave face; and now and again the
eyes of husband and wife met with a silent exchange of happiness and
thoughts from some inner depth.

The General's face was deeply bronzed, a stray lock of gray hair scored
shadows on his forehead. The reckless courage of the battlefield could
be read in the lines carved in his hollow cheeks, and gleams of rugged
strength in the blue eyes; clearly the bit of red ribbon flaunting at
his button-hole had been paid for by hardship and toil. An inexpressible
kindliness and frankness shone out of the strong, resolute face which
reflected his children's merriment; the gray-haired captain found it not
so very hard to become a child again. Is there not always a little love
of children in the heart of a soldier who has seen enough of the seamy
side of life to know something of the piteous limitations of strength
and the privileges of weakness?

At a round table rather further away, in a circle of bright lamplight
that dimmed the feebler illumination of the wax candles on the
chimney-piece, sat a boy of thirteen, rapidly turning the pages of a
thick volume which he was reading, undisturbed by the shouts of the
children. There was a boy's curiosity in his face. From his _lyceens_
uniform he was evidently a schoolboy, and the book he was reading was
the _Arabian Nights_. Small wonder that he was deeply absorbed. He sat
perfectly still in a meditative attitude, with his elbow on the table,
and his hand propping his head--the white fingers contrasting strongly
with the brown hair into which they were thrust. As he sat, with the
light turned full upon his face, and the rest of his body in shadow, he
looked like one of Raphael's dark portraits of himself--a bent head and
intent eyes filled with visions of th