Hélène's loveliness that night was extraordinary. The music, the lights, the wonderful beauty of the scene in those gorgeous rooms, the light-hearted talk and laughter all about her, had lifted the heavy sadness that lay on her brow and eyes. When every one seemed so gay, could life be quite hopeless, after all? The tender pink in her cheeks that night was not due to her mother's rouge-box, with which she had often been threatened. She was smiling at some pretty old-world compliment from Monsieur des Barres. He, for his part, asked himself what the grief could be which lay behind that smile of hers, and found it easy enough to have his question answered. In a few minutes, in the intervals of the dance, they were talking of her cousin Angelot, his mysterious arrest, the possible reasons for it. Hélène's story was plainly to be read in the passion of her low voice, her darkening eyes, the quick changes of her colour. Monsieur des Barres was startled, yet hardly surprised; it seemed as natural that two such young creatures should be attracted to each other, as that their love should be a hopeless fancy; for no reasonable person could dream that Monsieur de Sainfoy would give his daughter to a cousin neither rich nor fortunate. He did his best to cheer the girl, without showing that he guessed her secret. It must be some mistake, he assured her; the government could have no good reason for detaining her cousin, who--"unfortunately," said Monsieur des Barres, with a smile--"was not a Royalist conspirator at all." He had the satisfaction of gaining a look and a smile from Hélène which must have brought a young man to her feet, and which even made his well-trained heart beat a little quicker. Georges de Sainfoy was resolved that his sister should not insult her family again by dancing with a known Chouan. For the next dance, Hélène found herself in the possession of General Ratoneau, clattering sword, creaking boots, and all. Monsieur des Barres, looking back as he withdrew, saw a cold statue, with white eyelids lowered, making a deep curtsey to the General under her brother's stern eyes. "Poor little thing!" the Vicomte said to himself. "Poor children! The pretty boy is impossible, of course. These cousins are the devil. But it is a pity!" General Ratoneau danced very badly, and did not care to dance much. He had no intention of making himself agreeable in this way to any lady but the daughter of the house, whom in his own mind he already regarded as betrothed to him. He had satisfactory letters from his friends in Paris, assuring him that the imperial order to the Comte de Sainfoy would be sent off immediately. It was difficult for him not to boast among his comrades of his coming marriage, but he had just decency enough to hold his tongue. According to his calculations, the order might have arrived at Lancilly to-day; it could scarcely be delayed beyond to-morrow.