present," he answered hastily. "Nor ever will," he added in a lower voice.
Clémence saw that she had touched an open wound; and, to change the conversation, began to ask about Henri.
"He goes on splendidly," said Emile. "Some folk are born on the sunny side of the world, like your little lad, who plays with diamonds from his cradle."
This tone surprised Clémence. An ordinary observer would have thought both the past and present fortunes of Emile far more sunny than those of his cousin. "Henri has known much trouble," she said.
"He always gets out of his troubles on the right side," returned Emile. "He passed unscathed through that terrible Moscow campaign, which slew its tens of thousands, and ruined Napoleon himself. Then he changed his religion, and took the worst time to do it, too,—just after the return of the Bourbons and the priests; but he only made a nine days' wonder for all his friends, who ended by being more attached to him than ever. He chose a profession which every one thought beneath his birth and his talents, and he is likely to find a career and a fortune in it. Finally, he is affianced to a beautiful young lady, with excellent prospects."
"You amaze me, Emile," said Clémence with a changing colour. "Who is it?"
"Some one you know very well. Guess," returned Emile, with a cheerfulness which Clémence thought a little forced.
As she paused for a moment before replying, he continued, like one in haste to finish the story, "I may as well tell you at once. It is Mademoiselle de Sartines."
"Stéphanie!" Clémence exclaimed. "She is only a child."
"She is a very beautiful young lady," said Emile with emphasis. Going towards the window, he observed, "I am surprised to see so much snow on the ground at this season. Does it always linger so long?"
