of the Terror, had not passed without leaving
kindly outward traces of their healing progress.
Though the girlish roundness had not
returned to her cheeks, or the girlish delicacy
of colour to her complexion, her eyes had
recovered much of their old softness, and her
expression all of its old winning charm.
What was left of latent sadness in her face,
and of significant quietness in her manner,
remained gently and harmlessly—remained
rather to show what had been once, than
what was now.

When they were all seated, there was,
however, something like a momentary return to
the suspense and anxiety of past days in
their faces, as Trudaine, looking earnestly at
Lomaque, asked—"Do you bring any news
from Paris?"

"None," he replied; "but excellent news,
instead, from Rouen. I have heard,
accidentally, through the employer whom I have
been serving since we parted, that your old
house by the river side is to let again."

Rose started from her chair. "Oh, Louis,
if we could only live there once more! My
flower-garden?" she continued, turning to
Lomaque.

"Cultivated throughout," he answered, "by
the late proprietor."

"And the laboratory?" added her brother.

"Left standing," said Lomaque. "Here is
a letter with all the particulars. You may
depend upon them; for the writer is the—
person charged with the letting of the
house."

Trudaine looked over the letter eagerly.

"The price is not beyond our means," he
said. "After our three years' economy here,
we can afford to give something for a great
pleasure."

"Oh, what a day of happiness it will be
when we go home again!" cried Rose.
"Pray, write to your friend at once," she
added, addressing Lomaque, "and say we
take the house, before any one else is before-hand
with us!"

He nodded; and folding up the letter
mechanically in the old official form, made a
note on it in the old official manner.
Trudaine observed the action, and felt its
association with past times of trouble and terror.
His face grew grave again, as he said to
Lomaque, " And is this good news really all
the news of importance you have to tell us?"

Lomaque hesitated, and fidgetted in his
chair. " What other news I have will well
bear keeping," he replied. "There are many
questions I should like to ask, first, about
your sister and yourself. Do you mind allowing
me to refer for a moment to the time
when we last met?"

He addressed this enquiry to Rose, who
answered in the negative; but her voice
seemed to alter, even in saying the one word
"No." She turned her head away when she
spoke; and Lomaque noticed that her hands
trembled as she took up some work lying on
a table near, and hurriedly occupied herself
with it.

"We speak as little about that time as
possible," said Trudaine, looking significantly
towards his sister; "but we have some questions
to ask you, in our turn; so the allusion,
for this once, is inevitable. Your sudden,
disappearance at the very crisis of that
terrible time of danger has not yet been fully
explained to us. The one short note which
you left behind you, helped us to guess at what
had happened, rather than to understand it."

"I can easily explain it now," answered
Lomaque. "The sudden overthrow of the
Reign of Terror, which was salvation to you,
was destruction to me. The new republican
reign was a reign of mercy, except for the
tail of Robespierre, as the phrase ran then.
Every man who had been so wicked or so
unfortunate as to be involved, even in the
meanest capacity, with the machinery of the
government of Terror, was threatened, and
justly, with the fate of Robespierre. I, among
others, fell under this menace of death. I
deserved to die, and should have resigned
myself to the guillotine, but for you. From
the course taken by public events, I knew
you would be saved; and although your
safety was the work of circumstances, still, I
had a hand in rendering it possible at the
outset; and a yearning came over me to
behold you both free again with my own eyes
—a selfish yearning, to see, in you, a living,
breathing, real result of the one good impulse
of my heart which I could look back on with
satisfaction. This desire gave me a new
interest in life. I resolved to escape death, if
it were possible. For ten days I lay hidden
in Paris. After that—thanks to certain
scraps of useful knowledge, which my
experience in the office of secret police had given
me—I succeeded in getting clear of Paris,
and in making my way safely to Switzerland.
The rest of my story is so short, and so soon
told, that I may as well get it over at once.
The one relation I knew of in the world to
apply to, was a cousin of mine (whom I had
never seen before), established as a
silk-mercer at Berne. I threw myself on this
man's mercy. He discovered that I was
likely, with my business habits, to be of some
use to him, and he took me into his house.
I worked for what he pleased to give me;
travelled about for him in Switzerland;
deserved his confidence, and won it. Till within
the last few months, I remained with him;
and only left my employment, to enter, by.
my master's own desire, the house of one of
his sons, established also as a silk-mercer, at
Chalons-sur-Marne. In the counting-house
of this merchant I am corresponding clerk;
and am only able to come and see you now,
by offering to undertake a special business-mission,
for my employer, at Paris. It is
drudgery, at my time of lite, after all I have
gone through—but my hard work is innocent
work. I am not obliged to cringe for every