"My dearest father!" cried she, running to him; "now I shall know all! What is the matter?"
"Roderick, the noble Roderick is safe!" repeated M. de Mallet. Pauline was chagrined—she longed to hear of Edric, and she envied, for his sake, the renown of the Irish hero. "Can you, too, speak of nothing but Roderick?" said she, somewhat reproachfully.
"And of whom else should I speak?" replied her father. "Who else deserves to be spoken of? for surely he is the bravest! the noblest of men!"
"I do not doubt it," observed Pauline coldly. "Every tongue utters his praise—every breast swells with gratitude at his goodness—and every hand is raised to Heaven in prayers on his behalf.
"Have there been many persons killed?" asked Pauline.
"How can you ask so foolish a question?" replied her father. "Do you not see the ground heaped with slain?"
"But persons of note, I mean?"
"Let me see; I think they said there were
