Thus in amity dwelt the Claghorns, employing the summer days in innocent diversion. Many were the expeditions to points of interest; to Neckarsteinach and the Robbers' Nest, to the village of Dilsberg, perched upon the peak which even the bold Tilly had found unconquerable in peasant hands; to Handschuhsheim, where sleeps the last of his race, the boy-lord slain in duel with the fierce Baron of Hirschhorn, who himself awaits the judgment in the crypt of St. Kilian, at Heilbronn, holding in his skeleton hand a scroll, telling how the Mother's Curse pursued him to where he lies; to the Black Forest, now so smiling, but which CÆsar found dark, cold and gloomy, with its later memories of ruthless knights whose monuments are the grim ruins that crown the vineclad hills, and with present lore of gnomes and brownies. In these simple pleasures youth and maiden, philosopher, theologian and worldly widow joined with the emotions befitting their years and characteristics. To Natalie it was a time of intense delight, shared sympathetically by Paula, but more serenely. Mark enjoyed keenly, yet with rare smiles and with an underlying seriousness in which an observer might have detected a trace of the trail of the Great Serpent. Leonard, seldom absent from the side of his French cousin, delighted in the novel scenes and the companionship, but at times was puzzled by Natalie's capacity to live in a past that, as he pointed out, was better dead, since in its worst aspect it had been a time of barbarism, in its best of fanaticism. He could not understand the longing and liking for a day when if knights were bold they were also boorish, when if damosels were fair they were also ignorant of books, and perchance of bathtubs. He stared in innocent wonder at Natalie's exclamation of deprecation and Mark's harsh laugh when he pointed out such undeniable facts. To him Hans von Handschuhsheim, lying dead upon the steps of the Church of the Holy Ghost, his yellow locks red with blood, and the fierce Hirschhorn wiping his blade as he turned his back upon his handiwork—to Leonard this was a drunken brawl of three centuries since, and it grieved him to see in Natalie a tendency to be interested in the "vulgar details of crime." He knew that the girl lived in the gloom of irreligion (he was not aware that she dwelt in the outer darkness of ignorance), and he sighed as he noted one result of her unhappy lack; and he never knelt at his bedside forgetful of the fact, or of his duty in relation thereto.

As to the elders of the party, they enjoyed the present after the fashion of those whose days of dreaming have passed. Cousin Jared's broad smile of satisfaction was only absent when, in the heat of disputation, the philosopher was especially sacrilegious or aggravating, and even so, it was easily recalled by the tact of the widow, much of whose time was spent in keeping the peace between the two fellow-students of bygone years. As for the philosopher, he secretly pined for the Boulevard, though he, too, found distraction, one favorite amusement being to disturb the usual serenity of Paula by cynical witticisms, totally incomprehensible to the simple maiden.

The day of separation came at length, the first to depart being the mature and the budding theologian. Adieux were interchanged at the railway station, and many hopes as to future meetings were expressed, as well as satisfaction that chance had brought about a reunion so unexpected. No doubt these expressions were sincere, yet it is possible that as to clergyman and philosopher, each recognized in secret that their real adieux had been uttered years before. Under the circumstances, and with Mrs. Joe as a new link, the old chain had served; but at heart the two were antagonists; the chain was worn out.

"Not altogether a bad sort, Jared," observed M. Claghorn, as he walked from the station and by the side of Mrs. Joe along the Anlage.

"A thoroughly good fellow."

He smiled. It was faint praise. He said to himself complacently that she would not characterize himself as "a good fellow," whereas, the politician at his side, however she might have described her companion, regarded the departed Jared as of greater value to her plans, which had not been confided to him, than could be the philosopher in whom she had confided.

The two girls and Mark, following their elders, also interchanged views concerning the travelers. The verdict as to Cousin Jared, though less irreverently expressed, was similar to that enunciated by the widow. The good-hearted theologian had won the regard of all.

"And as for Leonard," observed Paula, "he is the handsomest boy I ever saw."

"And as amiable as beautiful," averred Natalie.

"As well as a little—shall we say 'verdant'?" suggested Mark. But the girls either denied the verdancy, or, if they admitted the charge in part, maintained it was an added excellence.

Meanwhile, the travelers contemplated one another from opposite sides of their railway carriage, the consciousness of leaving a strange world and re-entering their old one already making itself felt. To the elder man the change was neither startling nor very painful, but to Leonard it was both. He did not try to analyze his feelings, but there was a dead weight at his heart, a sorrow heavier than the natural regret at parting. It was long before he spoke. "I am so glad that our cousin, Natalie, though French, is not Catholic," he said, at length.

"I fear she is worse," was the answer.

"What could be worse?"

"Total unbelief," replied his father solemnly; and the weight at Leonard's heart grew heavier.

During the short remainder of M. Claghorn's stay at Heidelberg—already prolonged far beyond the original intention—it was arranged that he should select for the widow suitable quarters for her winter establishment at Paris; and so willing was the gentleman to be of service, that, to his great satisfaction, he received carte blanche for the purpose, and, Natalie accompanying him, departed with the resolve that the owners of the Great Serpent should be lodged in accordance with the just demands of that magnificent reptile, having in view, among other aspirations, the dazzling of the House of Fleury by the brilliance of the House of Claghorn.

As to those other aspirations, enough to say that they were by no means compatible with the loyalty he had professed for the pious plans of Mrs. Joe. He had not forgotten that the noble arms of the Marquise de Fleury were open to receive his daughter; but under existing conditions he was willing to be coy. He remembered with satisfaction that he had not irrevocably committed himself to a matrimonial alliance which still possessed attractions: though in the presence of the dazzling possibilities now offered, it behooved him to avoid precipitation. And so reasonable was this position that he did not hesitate to disclose it to the Marquise, simultaneously exculpating himself and assuaging the lady's resentment by dangling before her the glittering possibilities presented by Paula Lynford, whom he, with politic inaccuracy, described as the actual daughter of Mrs. Claghorn, hence inferentially a co-inheritor, with Mark, of the golden product of the Great Serpent.

"Tiens, Adolphe!" exclaimed the lady to her son, after having listened to the entrancing tale told by the philosopher, "Heaven has heard my prayers," and she repeated the unctuous story.

"Over a million of dot! It is monstrous, mama."

"For these people a bagatelle. Their gold mine yields a thousand francs a minute."

"These incredible Americans!"

"There is also a son, one Marc, about your age——"

"Aha, I see! M. Claghorn destines Natalie——"

"Precisely."

The little lieutenant wagged his head. It was the tribute to a dying love. From infancy he had been taught by his mama that in Natalie he beheld the future mother of the de Fleurys. Since infancy he had seen her but rarely, and on such occasions, being admonished by his mama, had concealed his passion from its object; but thus repressed, it had bubbled forth in other channels. He had written and declaimed sonnets; he had shed tears to a captured photograph of Natalie in pantalettes. The gusts of consuming passion which, in the presence of his amis de college, had swept sirocco-like across his soul, had extorted the sigh of envy and the tear of sympathy; from other friends, notably from Celestine, Claire and Annette, these manifestations had extorted shrieks of laughter, which, however, had moved him, not to indignation, but to pity, for in these damsels he saw but butterflies of love, unable to comprehend a grande passion.

It was, then, not without a fitting and manly sigh that the Marquis de Fleury surrendered the love of his youth in obedience to his mama and the motto of his house, which was "Noblesse Oblige," and, having procured from Natalie a photograph of Paula, he did homage before it as to "la belle Lanforre" in person, besides altering an old sonnet which had already seen service, and finding that Lynford, or as he would have it, "Lanforre," rhymed sufficiently well with Amor.

Meanwhile, the philosopher having diplomatically engaged the services of the Marquise, the noble lady proceeded to perform with zeal the task assigned her. La belle France, home of romance and last citadel of chivalry, is also business-like, and its sons and daughters of whatever rank are deft manipulators of the honest penny. In negotiating for the luxurious apartment of a diplomat about to proceed to Spain for a sojourn of some months, and in dealing with furnishers of all description, from laundry to livery men, the noble lady provided herself with pocket-money for some time to come; a seasonable relief to the over-strained resources of the House of Fleury.

"Tiens," exclaimed Adolphe to his mama, Mrs. Claghorn being already installed in the diplomatic quarters, "this desire of Madame Zho to inspect churches—how do you explain it?"

"She is dÉvote. Doubtless she has sinned. She wishes to erect in her own country an expiatory chapel."

Which explanation, evolved from information derived from the philosopher, aided by the speaker's fancy, elucidated the mystery contained in the patronymic "Lanforre," borne by Paula. "Sans doute," mused the Marquise, "la mÈre, being American, was divorcÉe. The daughter is the child of the first husband." Which theory sufficed until the later arrival of Mark, who, as being palpably older than Paula, drove the lady to evolve another, which, fortunately, in the interest of harmony, was not confided to "Madame Zho," but which not only explained, but demanded the expiatory chapel.

Mrs. Claghorn threw herself into her pious work with a zeal which extorted the approbation of the Marquise, who, as we know, was herself a religious woman, but which to the philosopher was less admirable, since it interfered with deep-laid plans with which it was incompatible. He was somewhat consoled, however, by the fact that the lady's course facilitated an intimacy which was favorable to the realization of less secret hopes; wherefore he vied with the Marquise in forwarding the pious cause of the widow by surrounding that lady with an artistic host, whereof the members received comforting orders for plans and paintings, designs and drawings, and were refreshed by a golden shower whereof the Marquise had her quiet but legitimate share.

The philosopher contented himself with the post of chief adviser and sole confidant of the beneficent lady. For, though her intention to erect a chapel could not be concealed, the locality of the realization of her plans remained a secret, and was, in fact, privately regarded by Mark,—where the philosopher hoped it would remain,—as poesy hath it, in the air.

Meanwhile, the comparative freedom of intercourse which reigned among the younger members of the party was approved by the Marquise as an American custom sanctioned, under the circumstances, by heaven, as an aid in its answer to her prayers; but the little lieutenant, like a dog that has slipped its leash, was puzzled by an unaccustomed liberty, and found himself unable to conduct himself gracefully in a novel role. He knew that the joyous freedom befitting intercourse with Claire and Celestine was not the tone for present conditions, but for similar conditions he knew no other. If, after preliminary negotiation on the part of his elders, he had been introduced into the presence of the object of his love, himself clad en frac, and had found his adored robed in white and carefully disposed upon a fauteuil—with the properties thus arranged, he felt he could have borne himself worthily as one acceptable and with honorable intentions. But thus to be allowed to approach the object of a passion (which, he assured his mama, was now at a white heat), to converse familiarly, surrounding ears being inattentive and surrounding eyes uninterested; to be expected to interchange views freely pronounced by lips such as he had supposed were silent until unsealed by matrimony—these things puzzled and embarrassed him. Perhaps it was fortunate that such attempts as he made to tell his love were not understood by the object of his devotion. Paula's understanding of French, though it had achieved plaudits and prizes at school, did not suffice for the purpose, and the lieutenant was innocent of any modern language other than his own, while against his frequent efforts of an ocular character Paula's serenity was proof, though occasionally disturbed by the manifestations of that which she supposed was a severe nervous disorder of the eyes of her companion, and for which she pitied him; and, as to the sonnet which he slipped into her hand, it being beyond her construing powers, she handed it to Mrs. Joe, who read it and laughed.

But though she laughed at a production designed to draw tears, but for it, she had probably paid little heed to an occurrence which about this time attracted her attention.

She was in the Church of St. Roch, Paula at her side, and, near at hand, Mark and Natalie. St. Roch is an ancient and gloomy edifice, and the lady had found no suggestions for her chapel in its sombre interior. She turned to leave, when her attention was arrested by a tableau. Natalie's hand rested upon Mark's shoulder, and both stood as if transfixed, and gazing at something which Mrs. Joe could not see.

Had it not been for the sonnet and the reflections to which it had given rise, she would have at once admitted the palpable fact that the girl, absorbed by that upon which she gazed, was oblivious of the touch with which she had involuntarily arrested the steps of her companion. With head bent forward, her faculties were enchained by that which she saw with eyes in which wonder, compassion and wistful yearning were combined.

It was a young woman upon whom the girl's rapt gaze rested. She had been kneeling at the grating of a confessional from which the priest had just departed. A smothered cry, and the abandon with which the penitent had thrown herself upon the stone floor of the mural chapel, had attracted Natalie's attention, and unconsciously she had laid her hand on Mark's shoulder to arrest steps which might disturb that which, at first supposed to be devotion, was quickly recognized as the agony of grief.

For a moment the observers thought the woman had fainted, so still she lay after that smothered cry, and Natalie had taken a step forward to lend aid, when a convulsive shudder shook the prostrate form, and then the woman rose to her knees. Dry-eyed, her long, black hair hanging in disorder, her white face and great, dark eyes gleaming from beneath heavy brows and long silken lashes, she knelt, holding high a photograph upon which she gazed, a living statue of woe.

Mark was hardly less moved than Natalie, but more quickly remembered that he, at least, had no business with this sorrow. As he moved, the unconscious hand of his companion fell from his shoulder, and in the same moment the mourner rose and her eyes met Natalie's.

Dignified by grief, she was a majestic woman, and handsome; probably handsomer in her disorder than under the aspect of every day. Perhaps she instantly read the sympathy in the eyes, no less beautiful than her own, which were turned upon her.

"You suffer!" exclaimed Natalie involuntarily.

"And you rejoice," replied the other, indicating Mark.

"I have but this." She displayed the colored photograph she had held toward heaven. A startled exclamation broke from Mark, as he looked.

"He is dead," said the woman. "To-day was to have been our wedding day, and he is dead." The tears welled up in the listeners' eyes; the speaker was tearless, but the silent sympathy impelled her to go on.

"Three months we lived together," she continued, with Gallic frankness as to domestic details. "His father refused consent, but to-day, his birthday, he would have been free: he is dead. His mother pities me," the woman went on. "She has known love. She promised consolation in confession—as if a priest could know!"

"Yet they say that in religion," Natalie commenced timidly——

"There is but one religion—Love!" interrupted the other. "You will know. He"—her glance indicated Mark—"will be your teacher."

Mark glanced hastily at his cousin. She seemed oblivious of the woman's words. He moved further away. After awhile Natalie slowly followed; the woman left the church.

"Did you notice," asked Mark, as Natalie rejoined him, "how strikingly that portrait resembled Leonard?"

She made no answer. Other words than his were ringing in her ears: "There is but one religion—Love! He will be your teacher," and even while she sorrowed for the sorrow she had witnessed, a strange thrill passed through her—was it pain, was it joy?

The party left the church. Natalie sought the side of Mrs. Joe, leaving Mark to walk with Paula. The elderly lady asked her who was the person with whom she had talked. Natalie replied that the woman's name was Berthe Lenoir, and that she wished to be the speaker's maid, and she narrated some part of the history that had been briefly told to her.

"But, my dear," was the comment, "your father must make inquiry as to her fitness."

"That, of course," was the answer, and then she was silent. Within a week Berthe Lenoir entered her service, a woman, who by reason of her capacity, soon gained the general approval; and for other reasons, the special approval of a lover of the beautiful. "Her eyes," observed the lieutenant, "are the eyes which shape destinies."

Meanwhile, other eyes, belonging to one who believed it in her power to shape destinies, were watchful. Mrs. Joe had long since resolved that to be an American statesman, Mark needed an American wife, and since she had herself trained one for the position, she had no desire to see her labors rendered fruitless. It had needed merely the opening of her eyes to enable her to discern that there were other schemes worthy of her attention, besides that one of the philosopher, of which she herself was the object, and which, though the gentleman had supposed it hidden, had been patent to the lady, serving to amuse while it benefited her. She promptly averted the danger to her plans by confiding to the Marquise her intentions with regard to Mark and Paula. The noble lady regarded such matters as entirely controllable by parental edict, and at once resumed negotiations with the philosopher, who, in the belief that surrender of his hopes in regard to his daughter would tend to further those he cherished in respect to himself, acquiesced gracefully in the inevitable; and there being no ground for further delay, the de Fleury-Claghorn treaty was duly ratified, to remain, however, a secret for the present from all the juniors of the party, except from the lieutenant, whom it was necessary to inform of the need of a re-transference of his affections. He submitted with sorrow. The charms of Paula had, as he confided to his mama, made an impression on his heart which only active service could efface. As to resisting destiny, it never entered his thoughts. Paula was for Mark, Natalie for him. There might be consolation. "With such wealth," he suggested, "they will surely add to her dowry."

"Let us hope so," replied the Marquise. "Our Cousin Beverley will do what is possible. Meanwhile, be as charming as possible to Madame Zho and to Marc, who will have it all."

"Such luck is iniquitous! Well, since my marriage is deferred, you will consent that I go to Africa. Love is denied me; I must seek glory. Tiens, je suis Francais!"

Long before this, Mrs. Joe had exacted from Mark a promise to study at the University with reasonable diligence. The promise had been kept. A new semester was about to commence; he was anxious to take the doctoral degree, hence it was necessary for him to return to Heidelberg. He hardly regretted it. Of late, constraint had seemed to pervade the intercourse which had been hitherto so unrestrained, and, above all, Natalie had been unusually reserved. It was not without some regret that he departed, yet on the whole content to return to Burschenfreiheit and fidelity to the creed whose chief article is disdain of philistinism.

Mrs. Joe was glad to see him depart before she left for America, where the surprise intended for him was progressing. But it might take more time to build a house than make a Doctor of Civil Law; the question was how to prevent his premature home-coming.

"I will keep him," said the philosopher, in answer to her confidence as to her misgivings. "He has promised to visit me when he leaves the University. When I get him I will hold him."

The lady looked at the gentleman questioningly.

"Do not doubt my good faith," he murmured.

"And you will come with him to America," she suggested. "Perhaps you can induce the Marquise. And the little soldier—surely, he will brave the seas if your daughter does so!"

"An invasion by the Gauls. Why not? I for one shall be enchanted to see the result of your energy and taste."

"And Natalie shall see the Tomb in which she is so deeply interested, while you lay your homage at the feet of Miss Achsah and so fulfill a long-neglected duty."

"And at the feet of the chatelaine of Stormpoint. I am impatient for the day." And it was so arranged, and the lady, declining the proffered escort of Monsieur, left Paris for Havre, accompanied by Paula.

"A good fellow!" she thought, as she leaned back in the coupÉ, applying to the philosopher that very term which he had flattered himself she would not apply, "but too anxious to believe that I am his cousin and not his aunt."