are you thinking of?"

"No one in particular, I suppose," the girl answered. "Life itself is
cruel--cruel and sad. You do not find it so?"

"Life seems to me the most glorious happiness--at this moment,
certainly."

"Ah, you must not say those things. Let us wake Mademoiselle Moineau."

"No," Angelot said. "Not till you have told me why you find life sad."

"Because I do not see anything bright in it. Books tell one that youth
is so happy, so gay--and as for me, ever since I was a child, I have had
nothing but weariness. All that travelling about, that banishment from
one's own country--ill tempers, discontent, narrow ways, hard
lessons--straps and backboards because I was not strong--loneliness, not
a friend of my own age--and then this horrible Paris--and things that
might have happened there, if my father had not saved me--" She stopped,
with a little catch in her breath, and Angelot understood, remembering
the Prefect's talk at Les Chouettes, a few days before.

This was the girl they talked of sacrificing in a political marriage.

"But now that you are here--now that you have come home, you will be
happy?" he said, and his voice shook a little.

"Perhaps--I hope so. Oh, you must not take me too much in earnest,"
Helene said, and there was an almost imploring look in her eyes. She
added quickly--"I hope I shall often see madame your mother. What a
beautiful face she has--and I am sure she is good and happy."

This was a fine subject for Angelot. He talked of his mother, her
religion, her charity, her heroism, while Helene listened and asked
childish questions about the life at La Mariniere, to which her evening
visit had attracted her strangely. And the minutes flew on, and these
two cousins forgot the outside world and all its considerations in each
other's eyes, and the shadows lengthened, till at last the children's
voices began to come nearer. Mademoiselle Moineau snored on, it is true,
but the enchanting time was coming to an end.

"Remember," Angelot said, "nothing sad or cruel can happen to you any
more. You are in your own country; your own people will take care of you
and love you--we are relations, remember--my father and mother and my
uncle and Riette--and I, Helene!"

He ended in the lowest whisper, and suddenly his slight brown hands
closed on hers, and his dark face bent over her.

"Never--never be sad again! I adore you--my sweet, my beautiful--"

Very softly their lips met. Helene, ent