Still, Philip dare not speak frankly to Mlle. de Mirandol. He loved her with true brotherly affection; and his courage failed him when he thought of the misery his confession would cause this loving and artless girl. Moreover, the promise he had made to his father was ever on his mind, arousing constant sorrow and remorse. He resolved, therefore, to gain time, if possible. With this aim in view, he had a long conversation with Antoinette a few days after their arrival in London. Without referring to the engagement which he had a just right to consider irrevocable, he requested that its accomplishment should be deferred until his period of mourning had expired. He pleaded the tragic death of his father and the uncertainty that still enshrouded the fate of Dolores and of Coursegol as reasons for delay; and Antoinette consented. He then gave her to understand that, as they were not married, it was not proper for them to remain under the same roof, and told her that he had found a pleasant home for her with some worthy people who resided in the environs of London and who, as they had no children of their own, would be glad to have a young girl with them as a boarder. Antoinette consented to this arrangement also; and this explains her installation in the Reed household. Mr. Reed was formerly a merchant, but had retired from business to spend his last years in quiet and comfort. The situation of the French Émigrés had aroused the sympathy of the kind-hearted man and his wife, so Philip's proposition was gladly accepted, and they petted and spoiled the young girl entrusted to their charge as if she had been their own daughter.
Philip remained in London; but once a week he came to spend a day with Antoinette; and the hours that Mlle. de Mirandol thought so delightful flew by all too swiftly for her. They never spoke of the future. Philip carefully avoided any allusion to that subject; but they talked of the past and of Dolores whose fate was still veiled in mystery.
Sometimes, accompanied by Mrs. Reed, Antoinette visited the poor Émigrés who had taken refuge in London, and relieved their necessities. She also requested Philip, who had charge of her property, never to refuse aid to any of her countrymen or countrywomen who asked it of him; and in the benefits she quietly conferred upon the needy around her she found some consolation for her own sorrow and anxiety. As for Philip, he had plunged into the active and feverish life led by most of the Émigrés, as if he desired to drown his own doubts and regrets in bustle and excitement.
London was then the rendezvous of a great proportion of those who had fled from the Reign of Terror. Princes, noblemen, prelates and ladies of rank, who were striving to console themselves for the hardships of exile by bright dreams of the future, had assembled there. They plotted against the Republic; they planned descents upon France, attacks upon Paris, movements in La Vendée, and the assassination of Robespierre and his friends; but all these schemes were rendered fruitless by the spirit of rivalry and of intrigue that prevailed. They were all united upon the result to be attained, but divided as to the means of attaining it. In this great party there were a thousand factions. They quarreled at a word; they slandered one another; they patched up flimsy reconciliations. French society had taken with it into exile all its faults, vanities, frivolities and ignorance. Philip de Chamondrin did not forsake this circle, though he inwardly chafed at the weakness of purpose that was exhibited on every side; but here he could live in a constant fever of excitement and could forget his personal griefs and anxieties. This was not the case with Antoinette, however, and if Philip had hoped that by living apart from him and seeing him only at rare intervals she would soon cease to love him, he was mistaken. Antoinette's heart did not change. She waited, and had it not been for the events that hastened the solution of the difficulty, she would have waited always; and though she suffered deeply, she concealed her grief so carefully that even the friends with whom she lived and who loved her as tenderly as if she had been their daughter were deceived. All Philip's attempts to destroy her love for him proved fruitless. Her heart once given was given irrevocably. Nor did she possess that experience which would have enabled her to see that she was not beloved. She attributed Philip's coldness to the successive misfortunes that had befallen him; and she was waiting for time to assuage his sorrow and awaken feelings responsive to her own.
Under these circumstances one can easily understand why she had awaited Philip's coming with such feverish impatience. Three weeks had passed since she had seen him; and all Mrs. Reed's caresses and well-meant attempts at consolation had failed to overcome her chagrin. Philip had come at last! She had sprung forward to meet him without making any effort to conceal the joy awakened by the prospect of a day spent with him, and she had hardly done this when the young man announced that he must leave in an hour.
"Will you explain the cause of this hasty departure?" she said, as soon as they were alone.
Her voice trembled and her lovely eyes were dim with tears.
"I am leaving you, Antoinette, to go where duty calls me," replied Philip, gravely.
"Duty? What duty?"
"The queen is still imprisoned in the Temple. It is said that she will soon be sentenced to death. I have formed the project of wresting her from the hands of her enemies, of rescuing her from their sanguinary fury."