CHAPTER XXII.

THE AURORA BOREALIS.

T this juncture, Jacqueline de la Motte Dauphine called to see us. We had not seen her since the day we met her and her

new family going out to St. Cloud.

'And how do you get on?' we asked, glad to see the poor girl once more looking happy.

Well; many thanks, dear friends. I have wished to come to you, but it is so difficult. I have had much to do, and the streets are unpleasant for a young girl alone. Ah! we met last on that fine day when Madame and I took the children to St. Cloud. What

a scene! Every one left the town; Madame's friends among them; their children piled up over their baggage on a waggon. They went to the country, far away; and eh! what grapes, what flowers! We could scarcely carry our share of them; for they

would not leave anything they could help to the robbers. But, alas, the Chateau! One can only shed tears at the mention of it.' So she ran on, till mother interrupted her to inquire after her parents; and we turned to ask Clémence concerning the destruction of the Palace of St. Cloud, a startling piece of news for us.

Jacqueline's parents were well, but their apartments, being in a public situation, were crowded with soldiers. They also had their Bretons and Bourguignons, and other strangers. Besides which, Madame the widow was now compelled to entertain six French soldiers, who had left the ambulance.

'And how do you manage with these?' asked mother.

'Oh! very well; they are very complaisant for us; one of them is young and handsome, he is polite, and very religious.'

'Indeed!' said Clémence; 'that is not common ; however religious our women may be, our men are not much gêné by it.'

'See then,' said Jacqueline; 'this young person has given me some little books, which he received. from the good Mademoiselle M— and others of the Geneva ladies. He put them in his knapsack and read them when he had time, and when lying ill of his wounds. He has given me one for myself, and one for you. I begged of him to do so.'

'What are they?' I asked, eagerly; for I was always fond of reading and information.

'Hold,' she replied; 'this is the Gospel of St. John which I have brought to you. I have also read it, and it is so simple and so beautiful; I have become so happy since I have read it.'

'Does Monsieur the Curé permit you to read this book?' asked grand'mère.

'I've not inquired,' replied the girl; 'we are a free people now; we may read what we will, and surely no one has a right to prevent our reading any part of God's book.'

"'Tis true,' said Clémence.

'Besides, M. Darbois did not prevent our receiving these books at the Kiosque of the great Exposition,' I said. 'I had one myself, but it was difficult to understand, so I gave it to the poor Emile David; it was the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans.'

'But this Gospel is not difficult; it is simple. I've read it to the orphans of Madame; they understand it, and so do I; therefore it must be simple, and it is beautiful; it raises the heart, it causes joy,' said Jacqueline.

Thus this young girl, who had hitherto always come to us with tales of sorrow or fear, now brought us a message of love and peace from the good God, for such we soon found this little book to contain.

And it is this which has sustained us, and which now causes Cerise to be the cheerful, patient being I have endeavoured to represent her.

'Have you heard anything from your friends at Fontainebleau ?' inquired Jacqueline.

'No,' I replied; 'not since the siege began. I heard from a young soldier from Sedan, that he had reason to believe one of my cousins David was a prisoner, the other among the wounded.'

'Ah!' she cried; 'that is our young friend that gave me the books, who has told you this. I made inquiries of him, and he has given me the same information; also adding, that it was strange a young lady had asked him news of these same persons at the Gare du Nord, on his entering Paris.'

'But it is a marvel!' I said.

'Have you not then written by your pigeons to your aunt?' asked Jacqueline.

'Eh, no, no!' I cried, clapping my hands; 'it never entered my mind that I could do so.'

'Is there not danger of their not returning or being shot by the Prussians?' said Cerise.

'No, no, my dear; no more than of the balloons; they fly too high to be shot. They go out in the balloons and return of themselves; the aëronaut takes them to a place of safety, where they are kept till their despatch is ready. I know one Monsieur

who goes this night; I shall send To-To by him, if you will. He is a good friend of Madame

'It is well,' I cried, for I had heard the Government sent out posts by balloons. This idea of the carrier-pigeon going out with my letter and returning with an answer was a capital one; how stupid we had all been not to have thought of it sooner!

My little note was soon written, telling Pauline what we had heard of her brother, and of our welfare; also begging for an answer by To-To if he came to her. I tied my tiny note to one of the strong feathers of his tail, and kissing and stroking his pretty neck, I gave him into Jacqueline's care, being assured by her that if her friend could not send him to Fontainebleau, he could at least send my letter, as letters went freely round through the country parts; and at all events my pigeon should be set at liberty to fly back to me. Loo-Loo, his mate, walked hastily up and down the cage remonstrating in tender cooing notes.

'Hush, Lu-Lu, ny dear, it is useless; your little husband must go, but don't fear, he will return soon ; he has a faithful little heart under his downy feathers.' So I consoled her, as though she could understand me; she at least knew from my tones of voice that I loved her and wished to soothe her.

'Don't fear the Prussians,' I added, 'they'll not be