“Yes, it hurts occasionally.--Is it then your custom here to betroth children?” “It is the custom for parents to arrange all these little matters as they think best, and sometimes they arrange them very early. Madame de Talmont, though she looks so gentle, is a woman of most decided will, quite capable of settling the destinies of all belonging to her. Ah, here is the carriage! I am glad I have made your acquaintance, M. Posharky, and I thank you for a very pleasant day.” Ivan could not certainly return the compliment. The homeward drive was rather silent; only a few remarks passed between Madame de Talmont and her daughter. Ivan looked, and was, exceedingly tired. Madame de Talmont observed this, and kindly, even tenderly, expressed a hope that the fatigues of the day had not been too much for him; nor did the eyes of Clémence fail to express her concern, though her lips were silent. But all the time his resolve was taking shape and strengthening. Emile’s tidings, while they touched him to the quick, had also revealed him to himself. His path lay straight before him now; he could do no less than “Put his fortune to the touch, And gain or lose it all.” But the gain was so inconceivably precious, the loss so unutterably terrible! A brave man may have the courage to risk his all; yet he knows the extent of the risk, and it is no disgrace to him if his heart trembles. That evening Ivan’s heart trembled sorely; nay, it almost sank within him. But a powerful ally was at hand. The door was opened for the returning party by a young soldier in undress uniform. There was a startled cry, an instant’s hesitation, and in another moment Madame de Talmont was weeping in the arms of her son, and Clémence standing beside them with a radiant face. Ivan silently sought his lonely chamber; “for,” said he, “this joy is one in which a stranger may not intermeddle.” An hour later Henri bounded up the stairs, and knocked at his door. “Supper is ready,” he said; “come, my friend, and join us.” As they went down together he added, “It is one joy the more for me to find _you_ here, M. Pojarsky.” While the happy family party sat together over the repast--almost as unable now to eat for joy as they had been for sorrow on the evening of Henri’s departure--their talk strayed lightly over the surface of the eventful histories that had yet to be told and heard. “I must congratulate you upon your recovery, M. de Talmont,” said Ivan.--“If you had seen him in the hospital at Vilna, madame,” he added, turning to Madame de Talmont, “you would rejoice and wonder at the change.” “Ah, that well-remembered visit of yours!” returned Henri. “In every way it was a happy one for me. Do you know it has saved me a tedious and fruitless journey to Brie, and a long delay in finding my mother and sister?” “How could that be?”