“To us all. Do you know how they deal with the _refractory_, as they call those who try to evade the conscription, and with their families?” Madame de Talmont raised her thin hand with a peremptory gesture, “Not another word, Henri. It concerns not thee or us to measure the danger; the duty is all with which we have to do. I can bear to think of thee pining on bread and water, with a bullet chained to thy foot, and thy head shaved like a convict’s; I could _not_ bear to know thee in the camp of the Corsican tyrant, fighting to fasten his iron yoke upon the necks of free men. How could I look upon thy father’s face in heaven, if I had reared and nourished his son for _this_?” “But oh, mother, it is _you_ I think of--you and Clémence.” “Whatever cross God lays upon us he will give us strength to sustain. Go, my children, and pray to him. I must be alone while I write this letter, for it will need to be very cautiously but very distinctly worded. The posts are not safe.” CHAPTER X. THE DRAWING OF THE LOT. “Our God upon the cross, Our king upon the scaffold; let us think Of these, and fold endurance to our hearts.” Clémence went into her own room, and Henri followed her. The chamber was severely simple, but scrupulously neat. The narrow bedstead might have suited a nun, and the table and chairs were of unpainted deal: but an ivory crucifix, exquisitely carved, hung over the bed; and the white-washed wall was adorned with a little tier of book-shelves, constructed by Henri, and containing a select and precious library--the “Augustinos” of Jansenius, the works of Arnauld, Nicole, and other divines of the school of Port-Royal, the sermons of Fénélon, and the letters of Madame Guyon. Most precious of all was De Sacy’s translation of the New Testament; and next to this inestimable treasure, the volume best beloved and most carefully studied by Clémence was the Port-Royal edition of the “Pensées de Pascal.” Many a line, marked by the hand of the thoughtful young student, showed her sympathy with the soul of the great teacher. Her heart, like his, had turned from all that earth could give to seek a more enduring rest and a better portion. Had she found it? At least she had found much that was unspeakably precious--a God to be loved and served with all her mind, with all her soul, and with all her strength. But she had been taught to dwell rather upon his commandments than upon his gifts, and was still far from recognizing, with St. Augustine, that he himself must give that which he commands. She had seen the mystery of the cross, but dimly and afar off, reading therein rather the exceeding sinfulness of the sin that had to be atoned for, than the unutterable greatness of the love that atoned for all. Consequently, her religion was one of surrender and renunciation, not of joyous acceptance and activity; death to the flesh was her watchword rather than life in the Spirit. The air she breathed was