there is life there is hope.'

'Hope?'

'Yes, M. de Rosny, hope,' I replied more cheerfully. 'He has work to
do. He is elected, called, and chosen; the Joshua of his people, as M.
d'Amours rightly called him. God will not take him yet. You shall see
him and be embraced by him, as has happened a hundred times. Remember,
sir, the King of Navarre is strong, hardy, and young, and no doubt in
good hands.'

'Mornay's,' M. de Rosny cried, looking up with contempt in his eye.

Yet from that moment he rallied, spurred, I think, by the thought that
the King of Navarre's recovery depended under God on M. de Mornay; whom
he was ever inclined to regard as his rival. He began to make instant
preparations for departure from Rosny, and bade me do so also, telling
me, somewhat curtly and without explanation, that he had need of me. The
danger of so speedy a return to the South, where the full weight of the
Vicomte de Turenne's vengeance awaited me, occurred to me strongly; and
I ventured, though with a little shame, to mention it. But M. de Rosny,
after gazing at me a moment in apparent doubt, put the objection aside
with a degree of peevishness unusual in him, and continued to press on
his arrangements as earnestly as though they did not include separation
from a wife equally loving and beloved.

Having few things to look to myself, I was at leisure, when the hour of
departure came, to observe both the courage with which Madame de
Rosny supported her sorrow, 'for the sake of France,' and the unwonted
tenderness which Mademoiselle de la Vire, lifted for once above herself,
lavished on her. I seemed to stand--happily in one light, and yet the
feeling was fraught with pain--outside their familiar relations; yet,
having made my adieux as short and formal as possible, that I might
not encroach on other and more sacred ones, I found at the last moment
something in waiting for me. I was surprised as I rode under the gateway
a little ahead of the others, by something small and light falling
on the saddle-bow before me. Catching it before it could slide to the
ground, I saw, with infinite astonishment, that I held in my hand a tiny
velvet bow.

To look up at the window of the parlour, which I have said was over the
archway, was my first impulse. I did so, and met mademoiselle's eyes for
a second, and a second only. The next moment she was gone. M. de Rosny
clattered through the gate at my heels, the servants behind him. And we
were on th