And at once it was made clear to the misguided Directory how deceptive was the apathy on which they had relied. The commissioners met almost everywhere with the most lively opposition, which sometimes ended in actual affray. Even the village of Chantemerle was in a ferment, and the peasants at first refused absolutely to send their contingent to Chantonnay. But the thought that, if they did not, the commissioners would presently descend upon them, finally decided them, very grudgingly, to do as they were required. Gilbert had advised them to this course. It did not seem to him, nor to M. des Graves, that the crisis had come, but . . . was it coming? CHAPTER XXXI WAX FLOWERS “O merry was the lilting amang our ladies a’ They danc’d i’ the parlour, and sang in the ha’, . . . . . . . . But they canna dight their tears now, sae fast do they fa’.” —_Lament for Lord Maxwell_. “Poor Caroline!” said the Marquise, looking up at the portrait of her sister. “How she must have suffered!” Lucienne, taken by surprise, very nearly ejaculated, “Why?” for, as far as she had been able to gather, Lady Ashley’s English life had been extremely happy. But, feeling that silence was more sympathetic, she said nothing. “And yet,” pursued Madame de Château-Foix, “her exile was voluntary, whereas ours——” She flung out her hands expressively. “Perhaps,” hazarded Lucienne, “we shall be able to go back sooner than we expect. Or perhaps . . . Gilbert will come here before very long.” The Marquise shook her head. “Neither is at all probable. And really, if I continue to suffer from my digestion as I am doing at present, I doubt if he would recognise me should he come. I am getting positively haggard.” And she then spoke, with the candour permitted by her nation, of her stomach, and of the state to which English food and the methods of its preparation were reducing it. Under her handling the subject seemed as tragic as that of separation and exile—and perhaps it really was so.