id she remind me of her mother, Madeleine seemed to have her
soul, and that soul held her up. Her hair was scanty and black, her eyes
and cheeks hollow, her arms thin, her chest narrow, showing a battle
between life and death, a duel without truce in which the mother had
so far been victorious. The child willed to live,--perhaps to spare her
mother, for at times, when not observed, she fell into the attitude of
a weeping-willow. You might have thought her a little gypsy dying of
hunger, begging her way, exhausted but always brave and dressed up to
play her part.

"Where have you left Jacques?" asked the countess, kissing the white
line which parted the child's hair into two bands that looked like a
crow's wings.

"He is coming with papa."

Just then the count entered, holding his son by the hand. Jacques, the
image of his sister, showed the same signs of weakness. Seeing these
sickly children beside a mother so magnificently healthy it was
impossible not to guess at the causes of the grief which clouded her
brow and kept her silent on a subject she could take to God only. As
he bowed, Monsieur de Mortsauf gave me a glance that was less observing
than awkwardly uneasy,--the glance of a man whose distrust grows out
of his inability to analyze. After explaining the circumstances of our
visit, and naming me to him, the countess gave him her place and left
the room. The children, whose eyes were on those of their mother as if
they drew the light of theirs from hers, tried to follow her; but she
said, with a finger on her lips, "Stay dears!" and they obeyed, but
their eyes filled. Ah! to hear that one word "dears" what tasks they
would have undertaken!

Like the children, I felt less warm when she had left us. My name seemed
to change the count's feeling toward me. Cold and supercilious in his
first glance, he became at once, if not affectionate, at least politely
attentive, showing me every consideration and seeming pleased to receive
me as a guest. My father had formerly done devoted service to the
Bourbons, and had played an important and perilous, though secret part.
When their cause was lost by the elevation of Napoleon, he took
refuge in the quietude of the country and domestic life, accepting the
unmerited accusations that followed him as the inevitable reward of
those who risk all to win all, and who succumb after serving as pivot to
the political machine. Knowing nothing of the fortunes, nor of the past,
nor of