Either it comes in the guise of peace, after the flames have burnt themselves out--or it comes through fusion of love at fever heat----" "Yes ?" Henry faltered, rather anxiously.
"When there are still some cinders alight--the peaceful happiness is not quite certain of fulfilment; it becomes an experiment then with some risks." "What makes you say this to me ?" The old priest did not look at him, but continued to gaze ahead.
"I have the welfare of our Dame d'Heronac very strongly at heart, Monsieur, as you can guess, and I am not altogether sure that the cinders are not still red.

It would be well for you to ascertain whether this be so or not before you ask her to make fresh bonds." "You think she still cares for her husband, then ?" Henry was very pale.
"I do not know that she ever cared--but I do know that even his memory has power to disturb her.

He must have been just such another as your friend, the Seigneur of Arranstoun.

It is his presence which has reminded her of something of the past, since it cannot be he himself." "No, of course it cannot be Michael--" and Henry laughed shortly.

"He is an Englishman.