was the
outpouring of all the love in his heart, seemed to him to be the one
piece of his own work that could hold its own with Chenier's verse; and
with a tolerably fatuous glance at Mme. de Bargeton, he announced "TO
HER!" He struck an attitude proudly for the delivery of the ambitious
piece, for his author's self-love felt safe and at ease behind Mme.
de Bargeton's petticoat. And at the selfsame moment Mme. de Bargeton
betrayed her own secret to the women's curious eyes. Although she had
always looked down upon this audience from her own loftier intellectual
heights, she could not help trembling for Lucien. Her face was troubled,
there was a sort of mute appeal for indulgence in her glances, and while
the verses were recited she was obliged to lower her eyes and dissemble
her pleasure as stanza followed stanza.

TO HER.

Out of the glowing heart of the torrent of glory and light,
At the foot of Jehovah's throne where the angels stand afar,
Each on a seistron of gold repeating the prayers of the night,
Put up for each by his star.

Out from the cherubim choir a bright-haired Angel springs,
Veiling the glory of God that dwells on a dazzling brow,
Leaving the courts of heaven to sink upon silver wings
Down to our world below.

God looked in pity on earth, and the Angel, reading His thought,
Came down to lull the pain of the mighty spirit at strife,
Reverent bent o'er the maid, and for age left desolate brought
Flowers of the springtime of life.

Bringing a dream of hope to solace the mother's fears,
Hearkening unto the voice of the tardy repentant cry,
Glad as angels are glad, to reckon Earth's pitying tears,
Given with alms of a sigh.

One there is, and but one, bright messenger sent from the skies
Whom earth like a lover fain would hold from the hea'nward flight;
But the angel, weeping, turns and gazes with sad, sweet eyes
Up to the heaven of light.

Not by the radiant eyes, not by the kindling glow
Of virtue sent from God, did I know the secret sign,
Nor read the token sent on a white and dazzling brow
Of an origin divine.

Nay, it was Love grown blind and dazed with excess of light,
Striving and striving in vain to mingle Earth and Heaven,
Helpless and powerless against the invincible armor bright
By the dread archangel given.

Ah