Annie had no idea whatever beyond the amusement of the passing hour, and was more intent just now on making a convert of the young refugee than in paying regard to the homage tendered her by Alfred. Euphrasie was a difficult subject to deal with; but there are some minds to whom difficulty is an incentive. She was one day sitting in the library with Eugene, intent in depicting on canvas the glories of the "Golden Era." Euphrasie entered, and sat down to some work. Annie called to her: "Now, my dear Euphrasie, come to me. You are a judge of painting; tell me what you think of my picture." Euphrasie drew near. "It is very pretty," she said, "but what does it represent? Those peasants resting under the fig-trees, those vine-dressers plucking the beautiful grapes, have very graceful figures, and most happy and intelligent faces; but what do they belong to?" "To the new Utopia," said Annie, "where all are intelligent and beautiful, and where discord enters not." Euphrasie looked dreamily in Annie's face, and said doubtingly: "Heaven? This is no picture of heaven." "No; it is an earthly paradise, _ma chère amie_. One need not die in order to enjoy it," laughingly rejoined Annie. "Oh! a fancy piece," said Euphrasie; "well, it is very pretty, but I am no judge of fiction;" and she sat down. "Fiction or not, I cannot let you off so," said Annie; "do you not think it would be very pleasant to dwell with a goodly number of intelligent people, each taking his own share of work, and aiding in making life happy--all good, all instructed and accomplished?" "Pleasant? Yes, very pleasant I have lived with such," said Euphrasie; "but their happiness was of a very different kind to that which is delineated here." "You have lived with such! Where, in the name of wonder?" asked Annie. "In France," said Euphrasie. "And what sort of happiness was theirs?" asked Eugene, now thoroughly roused. "I cannot tell you--that is, I could not make you understand. Excuse me," said Euphrasie, evidently sorry she had said so much. "And why not? why could we not understand?" asked brother and sister, both in a breath. "Because your principles are so different." "Nay, then, explain the principles, _ma chère_. You have excited our curiosity; you must gratify it now." "Nay, I know not how. The principles belong to the interior life, and on that I cannot speak." "Why not? are you sworn to secrecy?" asked Annie. Eugene looked his request for information, but spoke not. "Not so," said Euphrasie; "but, in the first place, I am no teacher; and, in the second, there are some subjects which can only be approached with reverence, and I am afraid--" she hesitated. "You are right, mademoiselle," said Eugene; "we have too little reverence." Euphrasie looked distressed. But Annie broke in with--"But we can be reverent, and we will be reverent when the case demands it. Tell us your principles, dear Euphrasie." {41} The young girl, with evident reluctance, said: