atic merchant who held that if God be
in the house there is no need of watchmen.

"Yes," answered Mathilde. "Open quickly."

Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long saddled with
a burden of which he had at length been relieved.

"Ah! What news?" he asked, when he recognised Barlasch.

"Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur," replied Barlasch,
"except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and on the road to
Warsaw. Here--read that."

And he took the letter from Desiree's hand.

"I knew he would come back safely," said Desiree; and that was all.

Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance--and then fell to
thinking.

"It is time to quit Dantzig," said Barlasch quietly, as if he
had divined the old man's thoughts. "I know Rapp. There will be
trouble--here, on the Vistula."

But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the head.

Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of cooking
meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily after the
manner of a dog.

"Then it remains," he said, looking towards the kitchen, "for
Mademoiselle to make her choice."

"There is no choice," replied Desiree, "I shall be ready to go with
you--when you have eaten."

"Good," said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was
beckoning to him.

CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where it most promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest and despair most sits.

Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine Sebastian
hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing enough in
earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections. Love, too,
may easily die--from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never dies; it only
sleeps.

Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the disasters
that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian campaign
was only one small part. For he who stands above all his compeers must
expect them to fall upon him should he stumble. Napoleon had fallen,
and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed their hatred in a hopeless
silence were alert to strike a blow should he descend within their
reach.

When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere
association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund had
begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight
which raised him