d. "Perhaps
the news is exaggerated. We shall hear more towards evening, and it may
turn out that the losses are not so great as represented. At least there
may be no loss personal to yourself, my dear, and I trust that such will
prove to be the fact. Therefore take heart. It is getting late. The snow
continues falling and the roads must be blocking up. Return home and
endeavour to maintain your soul in peace. To-morrow, you will come to
early mass, when I trust that we shall have better news to tell each
other."

In spite of the cheering words of the pastor, Zulma drove homeward with
a heavy heart. She spoke not a word to her servant. Instead of raising
her face to the storm and allowing the flakes to beat upon it, as was
her wont, when her spirits were high, she kept her veil down, and the
handkerchief which she frequently drew from under it gave proof that she
was silently weeping. It often happens, that the most boisterous, lofty
women bear their grief in unostentatious quiet, giving it a more
forcible relief from contrast. Thus was it in the present instance with
Zulma. Revolving in her mind all that the priest had told her, and
having full leisure during the journey to appreciate all its terrible
contingencies, she was completely prostrated when she reached home. On
descending from the sleigh she glided softly to her room, where she
locked herself in so as to be absolutely alone. She remained thus until
nearly the supper hour, and after the shadows of evening had enveloped
her.

II.

BLANCHE'S PROPHECY.

When Sieur Sarpy met his daughter at the table, he divined at once that
something was wrong. He himself had heard nothing. The prevalence of the
snow-storm had prevented any one from calling at his mansion, except the
few needy neighbours who had gone early in the morning to receive their
regular alms. The day had passed in solitude, and as the old gentleman
had had no misgivings whatever, he spent his time most agreeably in the
perusal of his favourite books. He must have happened on light and
cheerful literature, because, when he concluded his reading and came
down to supper, he was in more than his usual enlivened mood. But the
spectacle of Zulma's swollen eyes, pinched features and constrained
manner, checked his flow of good humour and arrested the pleasant
anecdote which his lips were about to utter. Naturally enough he did not
suspect the real cause of his daughter's sorrow. He knew that she ha