be forgiven, but it
must be the last. We are in a very difficult position here; you must be
careful, and take your sister's advice, Lucien. The school of trouble is
a very hard one, but Eve has learned much by her lessons; she has grown
grave and thoughtful, she is a mother. In her devotion to our dear David
she has taken all the family burdens upon herself; indeed, through your
wrongdoing she has come to be my only comfort."

"You might be still more severe, my mother," Lucien said, as he kissed
her. "I accept your forgiveness, for I will not need it a second time."

Eve came into the room, saw her brother's humble attitude, and knew that
he had been forgiven. Her kindness brought a smile for him to her lips,
and Lucien answered with tear-filled eyes. A living presence acts like a
charm, changing the most hostile positions of lovers or of families, no
matter how just the resentment. Is it that affection finds out the ways
of the heart, and we love to fall into them again? Does the phenomenon
come within the province of the science of magnetism? Or is it reason
that tells us that we must either forgive or never see each other
again? Whether the cause be referred to mental, physical, or spiritual
conditions, everyone knows the effect; every one has felt that the
looks, the actions or gestures of the beloved awaken some vestige of
tenderness in those most deeply sinned against and grievously wronged.
Though it is hard for the mind to forget, though we still smart under
the injury, the heart returns to its allegiance in spite of all. Poor
Eve listened to her brother's confidences until breakfast-time; and
whenever she looked at him she was no longer mistress of her eyes;
in that intimate talk she could not control her voice. And with
the comprehension of the conditions of literary life in Paris, she
understood that the struggle had been too much for Lucien's strength.
The poet's delight as he caressed his sister's child, his deep grief
over David's absence, mingled with joy at seeing his country and his
own folk again, the melancholy words that he let fall,--all these
things combined to make that day a festival. When Marion brought in the
strawberries, he was touched to see that Eve had remembered his taste in
spite of her distress, and she, his sister, must make ready a room for
the prodigal brother and busy herself for Lucien. It was a truce, as
it were, to misery. Old Sechard himself assisted to bring about this
revuls