These royalists continued to play their boston, a game which spread ideas of independence under a frivolous form over the whole of France; for it was first invented in honor of the American insurgents, its very terms applying to the struggle which Louis XVI. encouraged. While making their “independences” and “poverties,” the players kept an eye on the countess, who had fallen asleep, overcome by fatigue, with a singular smile on her lips, her last waking thought having been of the terror two words could inspire in the minds of the peaceful company by informing the d’Hauteserres that their sons had passed the preceding night under that roof. What young girl of twenty-three would not have been, as Laurence was, proud to play the part of Destiny? and who would not have felt, as she did, a sense of compassion for those whom she felt to be so far below her in loyalty?
“She sleeps,” said the abbe. “I have never seen her so wearied.”
“Durieu tells me her mare is almost foundered,” remarked Madame d’Hauteserre. “Her gun has not been fired; the breech is clean; she has evidently not hunted.”
“Oh! that’s neither here nor there,” said the abbe.
“Bah?” cried Mademoiselle Goujet; “when I was twenty-three and saw I should be an old maid all my life, I rushed about and fatigued myself in a dozen ways. I understand how the countess can scour the country for hours without thinking of the game. It is nearly twelve years now since she has seen her cousins, and you know she loves them. Well, if I were she, if I were as young and pretty, I’d make a straight line for Germany! Poor darling, perhaps she is thinking of the frontier, and that may be the reason why she rides so far towards it.”
“You are rather giddy, Mademoiselle Goujet,” said the abbe, smiling.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I see you all uneasy about the goings on of a young girl, and I am explaining them to you.”
“Her cousins will submit and return soon; they will all be rich, and she will end by calming down,” said old d’Hauteserre.
“God grant it!” said his wife, taking out a gold snuff-box which had again seen the light under the Consulate.
“There is something stirring in the neighborhood,” remarked Monsieur d’Hauteserre to the abbe. “Malin has been two days at Gondreville.”