at his sweetheart's
dowry would one day be considerable. The obstacles came from the
countess, who could not bear to part with so invaluable a maid; but when
Montcornet explained to her the affairs at Les Aigues, she gave way, and
the marriage was no longer delayed, except to obtain the consent of the
parents, which, of course, was quickly given.

Michaud, like his general, looked upon his wife as a superior being, to
whom he owed military obedience without a single reservation. He found
in the peace of his home and his busy life out-of-doors the elements
of a happiness soldiers long for when they give up their
profession,--enough work to keep his body healthy, enough fatigue to
let him know the charms of rest. In spite of his well-known intrepidity,
Michaud had never been seriously wounded, and he had none of those
physical pains which often sour the temper of veterans. Like all really
strong men, his temper was even; his wife, therefore, loved him utterly.
From the time they took up their abode in the pavilion, this happy home
was the scene of a long honey-moon in harmony with Nature and with the
art whose creations surrounded them,--a circumstance rare indeed! The
things about us are seldom in keeping with the condition of our souls!

The picture was so pretty that the countess stopped short and pointed
it out to Blondet and the abbe; for they could see Madame Michaud from
where they stood, without her seeing them.

"I always come this way when I walk in the park," said the countess,
softly. "I delight in looking at the pavilion and its two turtle-doves,
as much as I delight in a fine view."

She leaned significantly on Blondet's arm, as if to make him share
sentiments too delicate for words but which all women feel.

"I wish I were a gate-keeper at Les Aigues," said Blondet, smiling.
"Why! what troubles you?" he added, noticing an expression of sadness on
the countess's face.

"Nothing," she replied.

Women are always hiding some important thought when they say,
hypocritically, "It is nothing."

"A woman may be the victim of ideas which would seem very flimsy to
you," she added, "but which, to us, are terrible. As for me, I envy
Olympe's lot."

"God hears you," said the abbe, smiling as though to soften the
sternness of his remark.

Madame de Montcornet grew seriously uneasy when she noticed an
expression of fear and anxiety in Olympe's face and attitude. By the
way a woman draws out her needle or sets