this brave and devoted
heart; from this gentle regard always fixed upon me with an admirable
expression of happiness and content precarious as was our position! Ah,
who will ever recompense this beautiful conduct?"

"My friend," said Angela tenderly, "has not God blessed our laborious
and peaceful life? Has He not sent us two little angels to change our
duties into pleasures? What shall I say to you?" resumed Angela,
addressing the chevalier; "for the almost sixteen years that this
uniform life has lasted, of which each day has brought its bread, as the
good folks say, never a chagrin had come to trouble it, when, in the
past year, a bad harvest hampered us very much. We were obliged to
discharge two of our farm hands for economy's sake. James redoubled his
efforts and his work, his strength gave out; he took to his bed; our
small resources were exhausted. A bad year, you see, for poor farmers,"
said Angela, smiling softly, "is terrible. In short, without you, I do
not know how we could have escaped the fate which threatened us, for the
Abbot of St. Quentin is inflexible toward tenants in arrears, and yet it
was our pride to pay him always a term in advance. One hundred
crowns--as much as that--and a hundred crowns, chevalier, are not easily
gotten together."

"A hundred crowns? That does not pay for the embroidery on a baldric,"
said James with a melancholy smile. "Ah, how many times, in experiencing
what misfortune is, have I regretted the good I might have done."

"Listen, my lord," said Croustillac gravely, "I am no devotee. Just now
I came near shaking a monk out of his robes; I committed irregularities
during my campaign in Moravia, but I am sure there is One above Who does
not lose sight of honest people. Now, it is impossible that after
nineteen years of work and resignation, now when you grow old, with two
beautiful children, you should dream of remaining at the mercy of an
avaricious monk or a year of frost. In listening to you, an idea has
come to me. If I was the boaster of old, I should say that it was an
idea from above; but I wholly believe that it is a fortunate idea. What
has become of Father Griffen?"

"We do not know; we did not return to Martinique."

"He belongs to the order of Preaching Friars; he must be at the end of
the world," said Monmouth.

"I, who have had no news of France for eighteen years, I know no more
than you, my lord, but this is why I concern myself. I left to him the
price