“Now, be quiet, do!” exclaimed Juliette; “it is evidently our interest to support Turkey.” “Oh! I’ve had a talk about it with a Russian,” replied Pauline, who was equally excited. “We are much liked at St. Petersburg, and it is only there that we can find our proper allies.” Juliette’s face assumed a serious look, and, crossing her arms, she exclaimed: “Well, and what will you do with the balance of power in Europe?” The Eastern crisis was the absorbing topic in Paris at that moment;[*] it was the stock subject of conversation, and no woman who pretended to any position could speak with propriety of anything else. Thus, for two days past, Madame Deberle had with passionate fervor devoted herself to foreign politics. Her ideas were very pronounced on the various eventualities which might arise; and Pauline greatly annoyed her by her eccentricity in advocating Russia’s cause in opposition to the clear interests of France. Juliette’s first desire was to convince her of her folly, but she soon lost her temper. [*] The reader may be reminded that the period of the story is that of the Crimean war. “Pooh! hold your tongue; you are talking foolishly! Now, if you had only studied the matter carefully with me—” But she broke off to greet Hélène, who entered at this moment. “Good-day, my dear! It is very kind of you to call. I don’t suppose you have any news. This morning’s paper talked of an ultimatum. There has been a very exciting debate in the English House of Commons!” “No, I don’t know anything,” answered Hélène, who was astounded by the question. “I go out so little!” However, Juliette had not waited for her reply, but was busy explaining to Pauline why it was necessary to neutralize the Black Sea; and her talk bristled with references to English and Russian generals, whose names she mentioned in a familiar way and with faultless pronunciation. However, Henri now made his appearance with several newspapers in his hand. Hélène at once realized that he had come there for her sake; for their eyes had sought one another and exchanged a long, meaning glance. And when their hands met it was in a prolonged and silent clasp that told how the personality of each was lost in the other. “Is there anything in the papers?” asked Juliette feverishly. “In the papers, my dear?” repeated the doctor; “no there’s never anything.”