n."

At once the inward storm subsided, sleep overpowered him, and he dropped
back at rest. The moon laid its rays like bars of silver across the bed,
and illuminated his unconscious face and flowing hair with a patch of
brightness. Such is the serene look of heaven upon its wandering
children.

CHAPTER VIII

THE ABBE'S DISASTER

The force of circumstances had proved too great. What strength had his
training or his age to resist them? The old master, Love, the compeller
of so many heroisms and so many crimes, from Eve and Helen to Manon
Lescaut, had grasped him with his wizard power. Poor Germain, thitherto
so worthy and so well-intentioned, rose in the morning an adventurer--an
adventurer, it is true, driven by desperation and anguish into his
dangerous part, and grasping the hope of nevertheless yet winning by
some forlorn good deed the forgiveness of her who was otherwise lost to
him.

As Dominique, the Auvergnat valet who had been assigned to him by de
Bailleul--because he had been foster father to the Chevalier's son--tied
his hair, put on his morning coat and sword, buckled the sparkling
buckles on his shoes, and handed him his jewelled snuff-box, each
process seemed to Germain a preparation for some unknown accident that
might happen, and in which he must be ready to conquer. When he stepped
down to meet his companions, it was distinctly and consciously to
henceforth play a _role_.

He saw Cyrene sitting on a seat in the garden, putting together, with
the critical fingers of a girl, a large bouquet. There was a statue of
Fame close by, and beside it a laurel. She had plucked some of the
leaves to tie with her blossoms.

He went out to her and proffered a word of greeting. She was about to
reply, but the meeting was interrupted by a voice, and the Abbe appeared
from behind the pedestal.

"What! a laurel twig among your flowers, Baroness?" said he. "Excellent!
for Fame herself is not a goddess more suited to distribute favours. Do
I not in you Madame, see again Daphne, the friend of Apollo, who turned
into that tree?" and, smiling atrociously over his classical sweet
speech, he looked at Lecour.

"The insolence!" thought Germain, who also took it as a good opportunity
to begin his _role_. "Well, sir," he exclaimed sharply, "talking of
Apollo, did you ever hear that this god flayed one Marsyas for
presumption?"

Cyrene flashed him a surprised and grateful glance.

"I have heard, sir," replied