u away, and with you all
that there was great and noble in France?"

The old man turned his head.

"God protect France!" he said, solemnly.

A shout of laughter rang through the room. It was the son of Vicomte
Jean, who was laughing at his grandfather.

Madame de Talizac shrugged her shoulders impatiently. Madame de
Fongereues made her a sign.

"Come," she said, "the Marquis is sinking into his second childhood, and
his follies irritate me."

The child took his mother's hand.

"We shall be the masters now, mamma, shall we not?"

The Vicomtesse murmured, as she left the room,

"Why has not Jean come? Can it be that he has not succeeded!"

Hardly had they disappeared than a door, concealed behind a hanging,
slowly opened.

Pierre Labarre appeared and noiselessly approaching his master, knelt at
his feet.

"Master," he said, respectfully, "I have returned."

The Marquis started. "You have come!" he exclaimed, then dropping his
voice, he added, "Quick! Simon?"

"Hush! not so loud!" said Pierre; then whispering in the old man's ear,
"He is living!" he said.

The Marquis half closed his eyes, and his lips moved in prayer, while
large tears slowly ran down his withered cheeks.

The Marquis belonged to one of the oldest families of Languedoc. His
ancestors had served France faithfully and had held positions of trust
near the persons of the kings. The present Marquis had committed a fault
not easily forgiven by the _ancien regime_. He had married the daughter
of a farmer, when he was twenty, in spite of the threats of his family.
This union was of short duration, for his wife died in giving birth to a
son. This blow was so sudden that the young man abandoned himself to
despair. He shut himself up from the world on an estate he had among the
Vosges mountains, and lived only for his child.

The beloved dead, though of peasant blood, had been an extraordinary
woman. She, young as she was, had thought much, and felt deeply the
sufferings of her class. She pointed out to the Marquis how the people
were weighed down by taxes, and how little their hard toil availed
them.

"Friend," said Simonne, "thou art wealthy, thou belongest to the
privileged class, give and speak. Open thy hand, and raise thy voice!"

She endeavored to awaken in his heart a noble ambition. He was twenty
and he loved. Had she lived, Armand would, undoubtedly, have been one of
the greatest actors in the crisis then preparing, but now that sh