Cathelineau was a very good-looking man, about thirty-five years of age; his hair was very dark, and curled in short, thick clusters; his whiskers were large and bushy, and met beneath his face; his upper lip was short, his mouth was beautifully formed, and there was a deep dimple on his chin; but the charm of his face was in the soft benignant expression of his eyes; he looked as though he loved his fellow-creatures--he looked as though he could not hear, unmoved, a tale of woe or oppression--of injuries inflicted on the weak, or of unfair advantages assumed by the strong. It was this which had made him so much beloved; and it was not only the expression of his countenance, but of his heart also.

"And were you not wounded, Cathelineau?" asked the old gentleman.

"No, M. le Marquis, thank God! I was not."

"Nor Foret?"

"No, M. le Marquis."

"But were there many wounded?" said Agatha.

"Ah! Mademoiselle, there were--many, very many!"

"I knew there must have been," said Marie, shuddering.

"We cannot have war without the horrors of war," said Henri. "It is better, is it not, Cathelineau, that some of us should fall, than that all of us should be slaves?"

"A thousand times, M. Larochejaquelin ten thousand times!" said he, with a return of that determined vigor with which he had addressed his fellow-townsmen the day before.

"Yes, you are right, ten thousand times better! and, Marie, you would not be your brother's sister if you did not think so," said Henri; "but you do think so, and so does Agatha, though she cries so fast."

"I am not crying, Henri," said Agatha, removing her handkerchief from her eyes, which belied her assertion; "but one cannot but think of all the misery which is coming on us: were there--were there any women wounded in the battle?"

"There were, Mademoiselle; but those who were so, never complained; and those who were killed will never have need to complain again.""Were there women killed?"

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