eas."

"I beg your pardon," said the German; "the future mistress of the sees
is the land of the Viking. It is the forests of the Baltic that will
build the Best of the future. You have no timber in Italy."

"Timber is no longer wanted," said Perroni. "Nor do I know of what will
be formed the fleets of the future. But the sovereignty of the seas
depends upon seamen, and the nautical genius of the Italians--"

"Comrades," said the general, "we have discussed to-night a great
subject. For my part I have travelled rather briskly, as you wished it.
I should like to sleep on this affair."

"'Tis most reasonable," said the president. "Our refreshment at council
is very spare," he continued, and he pointed to a vase of water and some
glasses ranged round it in the middle of the table; "but we always drink
one toast, general, before we separate. It is to one whom you love,
and whom you have served well. Fill glasses, brethren and now 'TO
MARY-ANNE.'"

If they had been inspired by the grape, nothing could be more animated
and even excited than all their countenances suddenly became. The cheer
might have been heard in the coffee-room, as they expressed, in
the phrases of many languages, the never-failing and never-flagging
enthusiasm invoked by the toast of their mistress.

CHAPTER 12

"Did you read that paragraph, mamma?" inquired Lady Corisande of the
duchess, in a tone of some seriousness.

"I did."

"And what did you think of it?"

"It filled me with so much amazement that I have hardly begun to think."

"And Bertram never gave a hint of such things!"

"Let us believe they are quite untrue."

"I hope Bertram is in no danger," said his sister.

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the mother, with unaffected alarm.

"I know not how it is," said Lady Corisande, "but I frequently feel that
some great woe is hanging over our country."

"You must dismiss such thoughts, my child; they are fanciful."

"But they will come, and when least expected--frequently in church, but
also in the sunshine; and when I am riding too, when, once, every
thing seemed gay. But now I often think of strife, and struggle, and
war--civil war: the stir of our cavalcade seems like the tramp of
cavalry."

"You indulge your imagination too much, dear Corisande. When you return
to London, and enter the world, these anxious thoughts will fly."

"Is it imagination? I should rather have doubted my being of an
imaginative nature. It seems to me