was not discreet, she thought. He had no business so to take her
sympathy for granted. Other people might have caught that glance and
misunderstood it.

She stood for a moment, frowning a little, the graceful lines of her
satin and lace, her head crowned with curls, making a perfect picture of
what she meant to be, a great lady of the Empire. Then her look softened
suddenly, as Georges came up to her.

"Listen to me a moment, mamma. General Ratoneau wishes to dance with
Helene. She told me this afternoon that she would not dance with him. I
say she must. What do you say?"

Madame de Sainfoy twirled her fan impatiently.

"Where is she?"

"There."

A quadrille was just beginning; the dancers were arranging themselves.
The Vicomte des Barres, one of the most strongly declared Royalists
present, was leading Mademoiselle de Sainfoy forward.

He was familiar with the details of the mission to England, on which the
Baron d'Ombre was to start that very night; but not even to him had been
confided Angelot's escape and Monsieur Joseph's further plans. He was
one of the many guests who had been struck by the heartlessness of the
Sainfoys in giving a ball at this moment, but who came to it for reasons
of their own. He came with the object of hoodwinking the local police,
who were watching him and his friends, of scattering the Chouan party
and giving Cesar d'Ombre more chance of a safe and quiet start.

The manners, the looks, the talk of Des Barres were all of the old
regime. He had its charm, its sympathetic grace; and it was with a
feeling of relief and safety that Helene gave her hand to him for the
dance, rather than to one of the young Empire heroes whose eyes were
eagerly following her.

"Your sister is a fool," said Madame de Sainfoy, very low.

"That is my impression," said Georges; and they both gazed for an
instant at the couple as they advanced.

Helene's loveliness that night was extraordinary. The music, the lights,
the wonderful beauty of the scene in those gorgeous rooms, the
light-hearted talk and laughter all about her, had lifted the heavy
sadness that lay on her brow and eyes. When every one seemed so gay,
could life be quite hopeless, after all? The tender pink in her cheeks
that night was not due to her mother's rouge-box, with which she had
often been threatened. She was smiling at some pretty old-world
compliment from Monsieur des Barres. He, for his part, asked himself
what the grief could b