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This chief, no doubt, was Arnaud; but whilst he was anxious that they should render to their prince every possible help in a military point of view, the latter sought to carry out his intention of restoring the Vaudois to their property; but there were great difficulties in the way.

She considered him in detail as the talk left dinner, the glasses and candles spent. He drank, from a tall tumbler with a single piece of ice, the special whisky Arnaud kept. He had been neglecting himself, too there were traces of clay about his finger-nails, and he ate hurriedly and insufficiently. When she had an opportunity, Linda decided, she would speak to him about these necessary trifles.

Nothing could ever again offer her change, release, vindication; nothing, that was, which might give her, for a day, what even her mother had plentifully experienced the igniting exultation of the body. It was inevitable, she thought, for Arnaud to be in the library. He rose unsteadily as she stood in the doorway. "Linda," he articulated with difficulty.

Among the commanders who conducted this African war were Marshals Valée, Changarnier, Cavaignac, Canrobert, Bugeaud, St. Arnaud, and Generals Lamoricière, Bosquet, Pelissier. Of these Changarnier was the most distinguished, although, from political reasons, he took no part in the Crimean War.

Arnaud was in the library, bending over the table that bore his accumulation of papers and serious journals.

These mountain recesses, indeed, play an important part in the history of the Vaudois generally, as well as in the exploits of Janavello and Arnaud in particular. One of our sweetest English poets has beautifully apostrophized the feelings of the brave valley men in the following exquisite lines:

Arnaud would doubtless examine minutely into the condition and number of his men, and as he did so painfully consider the losses he had sustained, reducing the patriot band to about seven hundred men.

Arnaud declared pursuit impossible, and this, the first fatal error in the campaign, allowed the beaten general to draw off his shattered battalions. But, if the allied leaders rejected the more abiding and substantial fruits of victory, they did not disdain the intoxicating but empty glories of an ovation from their troops. The generals were everywhere received with loud acclaims.

The gesture of his hand, too, had been copied from a brilliant personage with a consuming impatience at all impotence. "Remember me to Arnaud," he said, holding her gloves and the short fur cape. "Wait!" he cried sharply, turning to the bookcase against the wall. Pleydon fumbled in a box of lacquered gilt with a silk cord and produced a glove once white but now brown and fragile with age.

The critics, delighted to establish the reputation of one especially favored by the Dau-phiness Marie Antoinette, exhausted superlatives on the new opera. The Abbé Arnaud, one of the leading dilettanti, exclaimed: "With such music one might found a new religion!"