-trees have grown!"

Such was Margot's exclamation, as we drew up at the door.

CHAPTER XXX. LINANGE

I do not know how far other men's experiences will corroborate the
opinion, but for myself I will say that more than once has it occurred
to me to remark that some of the most monotonous periods of my life have
been those to which I often look back with the greatest pleasure, and
love to think over as amongst the happiest. The time I passed at Linange
was one of these. Nothing could be more simple, nothing more uniform
than our life there. The unhappy circumstance to which I have already
alluded had completely estranged from the family any of those with whom
they might have associated. From some, the former rank and condition
of the house separated them; from others they were removed by political
bias; and to the rest, the event of which I have already spoken was the
barrier. Thus, then, was our life passed within the limits of an humble
household of four persons. The old Marquis--for such was he still styled
by us--was a fine specimen of the class to which he belonged: proud and
stately in manner, but courteous almost to humility in his bearing to
one beneath his roof. Unbroken by misfortune, he trusted that--although
not in his time--the world would yet return to its ancient course, and
the good king "have his own again." His personal calamities sat lightly
on him, or, rather, he bore them bravely. If he spoke of his former
state and position, it was in regret for those faithful followers he
could no longer support,--not for himself, whose wants were few, and
whose habits demanded no luxuries. In the calling that he practised for
his maintenance, he saw rather an occasion for pride than humiliation.
There was but one topic from which he shrunk back; nor could all his
courage enable him to approach that. When I first saw him, it was after
a severe attack brought on by the dreadful tidings from Paris; and yet
his composure seemed to me almost bordering on indifference, and I half
revolted against the calm elegance of a good-breeding that seemed above
the reach of all feeling. Ursule was a "nun;" and whether the walls
around her were those of a cloister or a cottage, her heart was enclosed
within the observances of the convent. She rose hours before daybreak,
to pass her time in prayer and solitude. She fasted, and toiled, and
observed penances, exactly as if beneath the rule of the Superior. She
had been singula