row, which can only be obtained
through that "bridal of the earth and sky" which we call religion. And
hence, to natures like Isaura's, that link between the woman and the
priest, which the philosophy of France has never been able to dissever.

"It is growing late," said Madame Rameau; "I am beginning to feel
uneasy. Our dear Isaura is not yet returned."

"You need be under no apprehension," said the Abby. "The ladies attached
to the ambulance of which she is so tender and zealous a sister incur no
risk. There are always brave men related to the sick and wounded who
see to the safe return of the women. My poor Raoul visits that ambulance
daily. His kinsman, M. de Rochebriant, is there among the wounded."

"Not seriously hurt, I hope," said the Venosta; "not disfigured? He
was so handsome; it is only the ugly warrior whom a scar on the face
improves."

"Don't be alarmed, Signora; the Prussian guns spared his face. His
wounds in themselves were not dangerous, but he lost a good deal of
blood. Raoul and the Christian brothers found him insensible among a
heap of the slain."

"M. de Vandemar seems to have very soon recovered the shock of his poor
brother's death," said Madame Rameau. "There is very little heart in an
aristocrat."

The Abbe's mild brow contracted. "Have more charity, my daughter. It is
because Raoul's sorrow for his lost brother is so deep and so holy that
he devotes himself more than ever to the service of the Father which
is in heaven. He said, a day or two after the burial, when plans for
a monument to Enguerrand were submitted to him: 'May my prayer be
vouchsafed, and my life be a memorial of him more acceptable to his
gentle spirit than monuments of bronze or marble. May I be divinely
guided and sustained in my desire to do such good acts as he would have
done had he been spared longer to earth. And whenever tempted to weary,
may my conscience whisper, Betray not the trust left to thee by thy
brother, lest thou be not reunited to him at last."'

"Pardon me, pardon!" murmured Madame Rameau humbly, while the Venosta
burst into tears.

The Abbe, though a most sincere and earnest ecclesiastic, was a cheery
and genial man of the world; and, in order to relieve Madame Rameau
from the painful self-reproach he had before excited, he turned the
conversation. "I must beware, however," he said, with his pleasant
laugh, "as to the company in which I interfere in family questions;
and especially in which I