ed upon her brow and cheeks clearly testified. With Zulma it was not
real sleep, but somnolence, or rather the torpor of dim meditations. Her
eyes were closed, her head was thrown back upon the rocking chair, her
limbs were somewhat extended, while an air of forced resignation or
preparation for the worse was set upon her noble features. The blue and
yellow flames of the chimney flickered wantonly upon her face; the moan
of the wind around the gable drummed into her ear, while the slow flight
of the hours which she heeded not, yet noted distinctly from the strokes
of the old clock, lapsed her soul farther and farther away into the
vague spaces of oblivion. Gradually Sieur Sarpy, yielding to the
influence of heat and solitude, dropped his book upon his knee, and
closed his eyes for a brief respite of repose. But for the outside
sounds of nature and an occasional gust in the fire place, everything
within that room was as silent as the grave. The respiration of its
three living beings was barely audible, a proof that at least none of
them suffered from physical pain. Everything betokened peace and
security. If the rest of the country-side was wild with war or the
rumours of war, the Sarpy mansion lay in the bliss of a profound
unconsciousness.

Suddenly Zulma moved about in her seat, and rolled her head from side to
side on the chair, as if a vision was flitting before her and the light
of the hearthstone. She slowly opened her eyes, closed them again
tightly in order to strengthen their force, and opened them a second
time. Ten o'clock struck. She had been resting for two hours. It was
time that she should rise and retire to her room. She sat up erect and,
in doing so, looked directly forward again. She could not be mistaken.
There was really a shadow between her and the fire. By a rapid effort of
her strong will, she acquired full consciousness and recognized Batoche.
Another glance of almost aching velocity revealed to her that his brow
was placid, his eye soft, and that the traces of a smile lingered at the
corners of his lips. This spectacle at once reassured her. She felt that
all was not as bad as it might have been or as she had fancied it was.

"Batoche," she said holding out her right hand, "you have surprised me,
but it is a delicious surprise. You cannot imagine how glad I am to see
you. Sit down."

Then little Blanche awoke and sprang from Zulma's knee into the arms of
her grandfather.

"I knew it," she so