"No," cried Elsie,--as though she feared she might against her will
be taken into such company. Then, not for her own sake, but for
Jacqueline's, she added, almost as if she hoped that she might prove
successful in persuasion, "I remember my father and mother. What they
taught me I believe. And that I shall live by. I shall never be wiser
than they were. And I know I never can be happier. They were good and
honest. Jacqueline, we shall never be as happy again as we were in
Domrémy, when the pastor blessed us, and we hunted flowers for the
altar,--never!--never!" And Elsie Méril, overcome by her recollections
and her presentiments, burst into tears.

"It was the happiness of ignorance," said Jacqueline, after a solemn
silence full of hurried thought. "No,--I, for one, shall never be as
happy as I was then. But my joy will be full of peace and bliss. It will
be full of satisfaction,--very different, but such as belongs to me,
such as I must not do without. God led us from Domrémy, and with me
shall He do as seemeth good to Him. We were children then, Elsie; but
now may we be children no longer!"

"I will be faithful to my mother. Go, Jacqueline,--let me alone."

Elsie said this with so much spirit that Jacqueline answered quickly,
and yet very kindly,--

"I did not mean to trouble you, dear,--but--no matter now."

No sooner had Jacqueline left the house than Elsie went down to a church
near by, where she confessed herself to the priest, and received such
goodly counsel as was calculated to fortify her against Jacqueline in