e good man looked annoyed as he replied, "My dear Victorine I love
quiet; how could my wife and myself endure the haughty and proud airs of
Caliste? No, Victorine, it was not Caliste I desired to adopt as a
daughter."

Victorine could not but understand the kind old gentleman's words; she
kissed his hand in token of her gratitude, and then with many thanks she
tried with caution to make him comprehend her situation. "If it but
depended upon myself," she said, "oh, how happy would it make me to live
so near Swisserland; so near my oldest and dearest friends; so near my
first, my happiest home; so near my beloved aunt Pauline's grave; but no,
uncle Dorsain; no, I must not think of it; I have a duty to perform here.
I ought to comfort Caliste, and I only can, because she feels that the
Rosiere is a younger sister to me, as well as to herself."

D'Elsac could not be offended by such a refusal. "Victorine," he said,
"pray tell me upon what motive do you act?"

She smiled, though the tear still trembled on her eyelid, as she replied
playfully, "By the same motive, uncle Dorsain, which you acknowledged
just now. I too love peace. I love it dearly, but pardon me if I say
that the peace after which I pursue is not of so transient a nature as
yours. You seek but the peace of good nature and cheerful countenances.
My peace is the peace of the heart; the peace that a young child feels
upon its mother's knee. My Heavenly Father's arms I know are around me;
they will, I feel assured, never be withdrawn; and whilst I do what He
points out as right to be done, the peace and confidence of the loved
child no earthly power can take from my mind. Dear uncle, Dorsain, I
must not then accept your kind offer, for I must now give the comfort of
sympathy to my sorrowing Caliste; and if I left her now, peace would be
banished from my mind, for I should be acting against my conscience, and
that ever brings punishment in its rear."

"When I hear you speak, my dear niece," said Dorsain, "my conscience
gives me many a pang for my unbrotherly conduct to that dear sister
Pauline who performed the tender part of mother to you Victorine. Though
a few miles, comparatively a few miles, separated us when I heard that my
sister was a heretic, I at once determined to associate with her no more,
and now that I have the will, the power is no longer mine to visit her."

"Your estrangement was a great grief to my dear aunt," replied Victorine,
"and