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the thought of Him who made them nnd you, and leave the fu-
tuiT iii his hands."
Aunt , Mede; and the road up the hill leads to Toinettc's
I will pay her a visit."
i afterwards Mdlle. Lescalle saw from her window
ag tlu 1
garden carry ing a basket on her arm. snd sing-
's hymn to St. Elizabeth. She watched her graceful
form, her light step, and listened to the sweet young voice carol-
ing away as she disappeared amongst the trees, with a grateful
hat. come what might, the child of her heart had discov-
ered the road to true happiness.
CHAPTER XIX.
AN EMERGENCY.
THE result of Mise Mode's thoughts and prayers was, that she
iiat evening a long letter to a dear friend of hers at Marseilles,
one of those women whom people instinctively turn to
when a difl5cu.lt thing has to be done, or a great act of kindness
to be performed one of those energetic, large-hearted French
souls who carry everything before them, and work wonders
with a marvelous case and singular simplicity. Later on, Mdlle.
Amclic Lautard was decorate. 1 with the Cross of the Legion of
Honor. So great and obvious was her influence for good over
a-' a child. After many anxious reflections, she determined to
': li her the whole story of Rose's marriage and of George's unre-
. attachment
to Mdlle. de la Pinede, now So3ur Denise at
the House of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. She knew, through
.Millie. Lautard, that this young girl had been staying a short
"fore at the Chateau de la Pinede, and that she had felt
interested in George de Vedelles, whose isolation in the midst of
ills family and deep melancholy had painfully struck her. She
sound Soeur Denise on the
thiu'.L'ht that Mdlle. Lautard might
subject and gain from her some information as to his character
ami state of mind, which would furnish a clue to the most effect-
ual means of bringing about his return to his wife and a good uniiding
between them.
Medc was much puzzled herself as to the real truth about
e On the one hand, she had heard it positively stated that
his int< licet was weak, bis character childish. It seemed strange
that his own parents, his clever father and his loving mother,
should have been deceived on that point; and though all that
Rose had related and shown to her militated strongly against
preconceived impressions, it had not quite destroyed them.
Then Thcreson also had burst into the room where Mdlle. Les-
-. as meditating on these conflicting accounts, and, finding
nt last a vent for the ire which had been accumulating in her
soul during the last weeks, poured forth unmitigated expressions
OT indignation against M. le Baron, whom she described as a
savage idiot, whom it would be well if Mise Rose had
never seen, far less married, and who would have deserved to
;i;ive had Benoite for his wife. They would have been a well-
natched pair. She with her foolish gibberish and wild-cat
and silent manner.
and he with his rude, gloomy,
In vain did Mdlle. Lescalle try to check this torrent of abuse.
iidd understand tluft under the circumstances Zon might be
'il in her aversion to George, and some of the things she
impression on her own mind. The doubt was,
whether with some amount of apparent ability when he held a
pen iu his hand, he was not incapable of acting rationally, or
even taking care of himself, in which case it would be necessary
to communicate with his parents and with Hose's father and
mother, at the risk of estranging him for ever from her, or, on
the other hand, of trying other means of bringing them together,
removing misconceptions, and appealing to his sense of honor
and duty. She came to the conclusion that this ought to be at-
tempted if possible, and that Mdlle. Lautard might not only consult
Sieur Denise, but seek out also M. de Belmont. with whom
she hoped George was still residing, and find out from him the
real truth about his college friend.
Such was the purport of the letter she wrote and sent that
evening. During the following days she devoted herself, with
the tact and ability which belonged to her character, to keep
Rose's mind occupied with cheering and strengthening thoughts,
to excite her to hope and yet to prepare her for disappointment.
They prayed and they read together, visited Toinette, and found
out other poor people in the neighborhood, sadly in want both
of a little help and of moral and religious instruction. A new
world, that of practical charity, seemed opening to the young
girl, who had so rapidly grown from a child into a woman. It
was a singular blessing for her during those days of uncertainty,
that she was experiencing those first fervors of awakened faith
in and love of God, which fill the soul with a strange sweetness
and almost lift it above earthly cares and joys, and that she was
guided at that time by one so clear-sighted and thoroughly sensible
as Mise Mede. The thought had crossed her mind that
her neice might, like herself, perhaps be called to a life of entire
the soldiers at Marseilles, amongst whom she indciatigably labored,
that, in consideration of her services, the Minister of
\Viir, under the empire, granted her the privilege of shortening,
at her discretion, in certain cases, the term of military
ishment.
But at the time we are writing of, her career of charitable
work was at its outset. Her father had heen intimately acquainted
with Mdlle. consecration to God, and the full practice of the evangelical
counsels.
She remembered how, when she was Rose's age, and the
world was smiling upon
Lescalle, and she had always remained in
correspondence with the little Arnelie she had known and loved
her and life looking very bright and
fair, a cloud, small at first, like a man's hand, had appeared iu
the horizon in the shape of the first news and rumors of revolutionary
disturbances in the neighborhood. The great events
which had convulsed her country seemed at first to have little to
do with the prospects and the destiny of a young girl in the mid-
dling ranks of life, but the storm went on disturbing and at last
darkening every part of France, and bringing the scaffold within
sight
of the humble homes of the ' as well as the no-
Then war to religion was declared, that war to the knife,
bility.
which rouses the soul to sacrifice, to action, to heroism. ai:d
then Mdlle. Lescalle understood what God's voice was saying to
her heart, she understood what was her vocation, not the peaceful
cloister convents were everywhere closed and comn:ui::lies
dispersed but the religious life in her own threatened lion e,
religious life in its essence, the religous vows, in its woik
amongst the poor, the prisoners, the dying, at the foot of the
scaffold, in the cell of the condemned, in the caves and gar,
where mass was said in secret, in the perilous services rendered
to a faithful, outlawed priesthood.
She embraced this life with unflinching zeal. She thanked God
that He had cast her lot iu those dark days. She met dangers
which brought her within an inch of death, and often felt that
nothing less than the* complete consecration which severs at one
stroke the heart from all merely human joys, could have bo
her unscathed through the fiery fnrnaceof that terrible time. And
now she asked herself, "Was it God's will that Rose should walk
in her steps? Had he assigned to her a peculiar destiny, in order
that, bearing the name of a wife, she should be, as she herself
had been, a religious in life and heart? Was that her vocation^
strangely brought about, strangely accomplished? "
SluMvn:
her without seeming to do so. She sounded her heart as they sat
conversing under the pines, or strolling along the mountain paths.
She observed the changes of her countenance, and noticed little
acts which would have escaped a less penetrating and loving eye,
and soon made up her mind that whether her husband returned
to her or not, Rose was not called to tread the path she her
had trodden, not even amidst < aimer scenes and brighter i
Many little indications showed her that her heart was not free
that not only had she discovered that George dc Veil
one a woman could love, but that she had fallen in love with him
since the dav she had with such terrible reluctance become his