Again the Archduke was silent, but his lowering brow and dark expression told that the subject was giving him deep and serious thought. “I paid no attention to your conversation this evening, Abbé,” said be, at last; “but it struck me, from a chance word here and there, that you suspect these same 'Liberal' notions are gaining ground.” “Heresies against the Faith, sir, have begotten their natural offspring, heresies against the State; and Governments do not yet awaken to the fact that they who scorn the altar will not respect the throne. The whole force of what are called Liberal institutions has been to weaken the influence of the clergy; and yet it is precisely on that same influence you will have to fall back. It is beneath the solemn shadow of the Church you'll seek your refuge yet!” “No, no, father,” said the Archduke, with a laugh; “we have another remedy.” “The mitre is stronger than the _mitraille_, after all,” said D'Esmonde, boldly. “Believe me, sir, that the solemn knell that tolls an excommunication will strike more terror through Christendom than all your artillery.” Either the remark or the tone in which it was uttered was unpleasing to the Prince; indeed, all the Abbe's courtesy at times gave way to an almost impetuous boldness, which royalty never brooks, for he turned away haughtily, and joined the others at a distant part of the room. There was something of scorn in the proud look which D'Esmonde gave after him, and then slipped from the chamber with noiseless step and disappeared. Inquiring the way to the Princess's apartment, the Abbé slowly ascended the stairs, pondering deeply as he went. Nina was passing the corridor at the moment, and, supposing that he had mistaken the direction, politely asked if she could offer him any guidance. Scarcely noticing the questioner, he replied,---- “I was looking for the Princesse de Midchekoff's apartments.” “It is here, sir; but she is indisposed.” “If you would say that the Abbé D'Esmonde--” He had got thus far when, lifting his eyes, his glance fell upon her features; and then, as if spell-bound, he stood silently gazing at her. Nina's cheek grew crimson under the stare; but her eyes met his with unshaken firmness. “If I were to disbelieve all probabilities,” said he, slowly, “I should say that I see an old friend before me. Are you not the daughter of Huertos, the Toridor of Seville?” “Fra Eustace!” said Nina, stepping back and staring steadily at him. “No longer so, Lola; I am the Abbé D'Esmonde now,” said he, while a faint flush tinged his pale features. “And I am Nina, the 'Cameriera,'” replied she, scornfully. “See how unequally fortune has dealt with us!” D'Esmonde made a sign towards the door, which she at once understood and answered,---- “Yes, in the service of the Princess.” “This is indeed a strange meeting, Lola.” “Call me Nina,” said the girl, flushing, “or I shall remember old times, and my Spanish blood will little bear such memories.”