land place,
and in such delighted wonder that the heart of its own accord goes up in
peace and praise to the Creator. The printed page may teach envy,
desire, coveteousness, hatred, but the Book of Nature teaches
resignation, hope, willingness to labour and live, submission to die.
The world has gone farther and farther from peace since larger and
larger have grown its cities, and its shepherd kings are no more."

* * *

She remained still, her hands folded on her knees, her face set as
though it were cast in bronze. The great bedchamber, with its hangings
of pale blue plush and its silver-mounted furniture, was dim and shadowy
in the greyness of a midwinter afternoon. Doors opened, here to the bath
and dressing chambers, there to the oratory, yonder to the apartments of
Sabran. She looked across to the last, and a shudder passed over her; a
sense of sickness and revulsion came on her.

She sat still and waited; she was too weak to go farther than this room.
She was wrapped in a long loose gown of white satin, lined and trimmed
with sable. There were black bearskins beneath her feet; the atmosphere
was warmed by hot air, and fragrant with some bowls full of forced
roses, which her women had placed there at noon. The grey light of the
fading afternoon touched the silver scrollwork of the bed, and the
silver frame of one large mirror, and fell on her folded hands and on
the glister of their rings. Her head leaned backward against the high
carved ebony of her chair. Her face was stern and bitterly cold, as that
of Maria Theresa when she signed the loss of Silesia.

He approached from his own apartments, and came timidly and with a slow
step forward. He did not dare to salute her, or go near to her; he stood
like a banished man, disgraced, a few yards from her seat.

Two months had gone by since he had seen her. When he entered he read on
her features that he must leave all hope behind.

Her whole frame shrank within her as she saw him there, but she gave no
sign of what she felt. Without looking at him she spoke, in a voice
quite firm, though it was faint from feebleness.

"I have but little to say to you, but that little is best said, not
written."

He did not reply; his eyes were watching her with a terrible appeal, a
very agony of longing. They had not rested on her for two months. She
had been near the gates of the grave, within the shadow of death. He
would have given his life for a word of