Sapphira Bloommaert availed herself of the reasonable excuse which public calamity gave her to retire from everything society called “pleasure”; therefore her absence from Annette’s entertainments escaped the unpleasant notice it would otherwise have received. Annette was able to parry all inquiries on two grounds; first, on Sappha’s national sympathy; or, if this reason was incredulously received, mysteriously to associate Mr. Murray’s name with that of his country. “Sappha was so sensitive; her country was in distress, and then also, her lover was in danger. Yes, Mr. Murray had joined General Jackson at New Orleans, and every one knew what a reckless soldier General Jackson was. Of course Sappha was not in a dancing mood. She could understand. For if Mr. St. Ange was with General Jackson, she would be incapable of seeing any one, even her dearest friends.” People thought with her, or not with her, Annette cared little. They had been given reasons for Sappha’s absence from social affairs, and they could not, to her face, go beyond them. But Achille was not to be so easily put off. He himself had taken to the judge the information that Leonard was with General Jackson; and after this honourable certainty of her lover’s position he saw no reason for Sappha’s seclusion. “Why does Sappha decline all our invitations, Annette?” he asked one night, after a rather disappointing dance. “We do miss her so much.” “I endure her absence very comfortably,” replied Annette. “Sappha has been ill-natured with me ever since---- Oh, for a long time. How do you like Miss Bogardus?” “Very well, she accommodates herself perfectly; but why is Sappha at disagreement with you? It is a pity. Our parties do not succeed without her. She is so lovely, so enchanting in her grace and kindness.” “Well, then, you may accustom yourself to do without her beauty, and enchantments, and grace, and kindness. She will never enter this house again! There now! I know it! and I am not broken-hearted, Achille.” “Madame is what she calls joking?” Achille asked this question in a cold, even voice, but if Annette had been a wise woman she would have regarded the look in his eyes and the stern set of his lips as ominous and implacable. On the contrary, she defied them, being roused to that attitude by a number of little annoyances, of which this inquiry concerning Sappha was the culmination. She flung down the bracelet she had been unclasping in a temper, and answered: “One does not joke about Sapphira Bloommaert. No, indeed! A girl that cannot understand a little mistake--a mere slip of the tongue.” “You astonish me, Annette,” answered Achille. “I have always considered your cousin as most amiable--most easy to persuade. What slip, what mistake, did you make?” “I do not care to talk about Sappha any longer. I am weary.” “Then madame must sleep and rest. I can myself ask Sappha; perhaps I may rectify the little mistake--the slip----” “Oh, Achille, do let the subject drop!”