"Listen to me," added she, fixing on Ireneus a look impressed with strange grief and affection. "Heaven which denied me a brother seemed to supply its neglect in yourself. The attachment you evince toward me appeals to my heart, and I will make you a confession.
"When I say nothing has troubled my thoughts, I do not say all. There is one impression which to me has been an event, a circumstance, the influence of which I cannot speak of. I wish, however, to ask you, if you believe in presentiments?"
"What a question!" replied Ireneus, "no one ever addressed me thus before, and I do not know what to say."
"You do not"—said Ebba, with as much evidence of surprise, as if she had said you do not believe in the sun or moon. "I do, and I think this matter plain and evident as the existence of God, to whom we are indebted for all our faculties. God endows us with that intuition of secret events, that species of devotion, sometimes as an act of mercy to prepare us for a misfortune which will overtake us, sometimes in mercy to point out to us the consequences of the concealed peril in which we are engaged.
"Even you, who seem not to believe in presentiments, have more than once been seized with an involuntary apprehension. This dread, this sadness, is the antecedent of the tempest. It announces regret, accident, and unforeseen distress. Nay, I think we thus are informed of dangers which menace one we love. I think there is a real link between souls which love each other, a mysterious tie, an invisible union, so powerful however, that how great soever the distance may be, one cannot suffer without the other being unhappy; I will even say, that I think these bonds exist between the living and the dead, that the chilly grave does not crush all love, that the dead are touched by the tears we shed for them, and by the fidelity of our affections to them. I will not in this connection repeat to you stories of apparitions, ghost stories, etc. If you do not believe what I say, you will also doubt all popular anecdotes. There are sentiments which cannot be demonstrated, inductions and revelations which austere reason rejects, and casts amid the empire of dreams, which exert a great influence over the heart. I saw one night my mother standing at the foot of my bed. She died when I was born. She leaned over me and kissed my forehead. Her lips seemed cold as ice, yet her kiss burned me. She looked at me for a moment in silence, and her large blue eyes were filled with tears. She then slowly withdrew, and as she did so, opened her arms to call me to her. Once again, as I opened a door I saw myself, pale as my father used to describe my mother to me, and clad in a long, white robe, which fell about me like a shroud. Old people will tell you there is no more certain sign of death, and I am sure I shall not live long. For that reason I do not attach myself to this world, nor indulge as others do in reveries about the future."
This conviction of Ebba was evidently deeply rooted that Ireneus knew not how reply to it. He, however, sought to represent to Ebba that these impressions should not be taken too seriously to heart, and that at her age, and with her qualities, she should not anticipate a sacrifice of existence, nor give up the joys and hopes of life.
Ebba said nothing. She, however, looked long and moodily at him, clasped his hand and left him.
Ireneus was yet more desolate than he had been during the days preceding Alete's marriage. A letter from one of his friends greatly excited him. This friend informed him that the legitimist party was about to attempt the reconquest of the realm. The Duchess de Berry had left Scotland, for Massa, thence she had opened a correspondence with many provinces. La Vendée and the south opened their arms to her, and crowds of devoted servants had pledged themselves to her.
All announced an approaching conflict, and all seemed to promise success. Will you not, said his enthusiastic correspondent, join in our enterprise, and share in our glory? I have always known you faithful to your principles, and determined to defend them. You will not suffer yourself to be led astray by a repose which is unworthy of you, and slumber in peasant life. Shall I write to you some day as the valliant Beornere did, "go hang yourself, Crellon, for there was a battle at Arques, and you were away?"—No, the color under which you first fought is about to be flung to the wind, and your friends will not expect you in vain.
When he heard this news, when he heard the trumpet call, Ireneus felt all his military ardor revived. Often in the peaceable days he passed in his uncle's house, he reproached himself with a happiness to which he did not think himself entitled. Now he could not absent himself from the arena, in which his friends were about to enter; he could not desert them. In the ardor of his monarchical sentiments he forgot that this enterprise was civil war, in which brothers would be arrayed against each other, and the soil of France steeped in the blood of its own children. He only thought of his oath of allegiance and his banner. His first idea was to go. When, however, he reflected more calmly, he thought it his duty to inform his uncle of his plans, and, under the pretext of hunting, wandered over the fields with his gun on his shoulder, forming his schemes and dreaming of the glory that awaited him.