Laurence did not conceive that she was loved by two men.
"But, my dear child," said Madame d'Hauteserre one evening (her own son silently dying of love for Laurence), "you must choose!" "Oh, let us be happy," she replied; "God will save us from ourselves." Adrien d'Hauteserre buried within his breast the jealousy that was consuming him; he kept the secret of his torture, aware of how little he could hope.

He tried to be content with the happiness of seeing the charming woman who during the few months this struggle lasted shone in all her brilliancy.

In one sense Laurence had become coquettish, taking that dainty care of her person which women who are loved delight in.
She followed the fashions, and went more than once to Paris to deck her beauty with _chiffons_ or some choice novelty.

Desirous of giving her cousins a sense of home and its every enjoyment, from which they had so long been severed, she made her chateau, in spite of the remonstrances of her late guardian, the most completely comfortable house in Champagne.
Robert d'Hauteserre saw nothing of this hidden drama; he never noticed his brother's love for Laurence.

As to the girl herself, he liked to tease her about her coquetry,--for he confounded that odious defect with the natural desire to please; he was always mistaken in matters of feeling, taste, and the higher ethics.