ldren of emigration, of a foreign
land.

The excellent Urbain had indeed some charitable work to pride himself
upon. Even he himself hardly knew how it had all been managed: the
keeping of the chateau and its archives, the recovery of alienated
lands, so that the spending of money in repairing and beautifying was
all that was needed to set Lancilly in its place again as one of the
chief country houses of Anjou, a centre of society. Urbain had worked
for his cousin all these twenty years, quietly and perseveringly. To
look at his happy face now, it would seem that he had gained his heart's
desire, and that his cousin's gratitude would suffice him for the rest
of his life. His eyes were wet as he looked at his wife and said: "There
was only one thing lacking--I knew it would be so. If only you and
Joseph had gone with me to welcome them! I never felt so insignificant
as when I went out alone from that doorway to help my cousins out of the
coach. And I saw her look round--Adelaide--she was surprised, I know, to
find me alone."

"Did she ask for me--or for Joseph?" said Madame de la Mariniere, in her
dry little voice.

"Not at the moment--no--afterwards, of course. She has charming manners.
And she looks so young. It is really hard to believe that she has a son
of twenty-two. My dear old Herve looks much older. His hair is grey. He
has quite left off powder; nearly everybody has, I suppose. I wish you
had been there! But you will go to-morrow, will you not?"

"Whenever you please," said Madame de la Mariniere. "In my opinion,
allow me to say, it was much better that I should not be there to-day.
You had done everything; all the credit was yours. Madame de Sainfoy,
tired and nervous, no doubt,--what could she have done with an
unsympathetic old distant cousin, except wish heartily for her absence?
No, no, I did not love Adelaide twenty years ago. I thought her worldly
and ambitious then--what should I think her now! I will be civil for
your sake, of course,--but my dear Urbain, what have I to do with
emigrants who have changed their flag, and have come back false to their
old convictions? No--my place is not at Lancilly. Nor is Joseph's--and I
hardly believe we should be welcome there."

"My dear, all this is politics!" cried Monsieur Urbain, flourishing his
hands in the air. "It is agreed, it is our convention, yours and mine,
that we never mention politics. It must be the same between you and our
cousins. What does i