sing,
and the organ again commenced a Te Deum.

The procession then left the chapel of St. Medard, and in a spot chosen
for the purpose was the Rosiere presented with a bouquet of flowers, an
arrow, and two balls, such being the custom for many generations, and
still carried on, though the reason for presenting these particular
offerings is completely forgotten in Salency.

It was now the hour of the fete, and though usually the Rosiere returns
to her home, yet Lisette would not do so, fearful lest she should be
detained there; so taking the unwilling arm of D'Elsac she accompanied
the villagers to the chateau where the fete was to be given. It was
during this walk that Lisette gave full vent to the bitter passions then
raging in her bosom. She abused Caliste, calling her selfish and
jealous; she blamed her parents for indulging her by remaining at home;
she called Victorine a hypocrite and unsisterly, and, as to little Mimi,
her displeasure against her knew no bounds. "Never was any Rosiere so
neglected by her own family as I have been," she said; "and even now at
my own fete, they choose to remain absent."

She shed tears of passion as she thus poured forth her selfish sorrow,
whilst her uncle made no reply, in silence listening to her words.

On arriving at the chateau the Rosiere was received with shouts of
applause; and, before one dance was concluded, Lisette to all appearance
had forgotten that she had a sister existing. Not so Dorsain; he sate
apart from the villagers, watching the thoughtless and unfeeling girl,
his affectionate heart picturing to himself the sorrow of his sister's
family. Surely the time _must_ come, he thought, when the eyes of
Lisette will be opened. Surely she cannot long remain in such total
ignorance of her own bad conduct. And this is the Rosiere, the chosen
maiden of the village! Oh, Salenciens, how ignorant must you be! how
dark must be your state when, judging only by outward seemings, you
crowned this girl for virtue! D'Elsac shed tears when he thought of
this, and when he remembered that Caliste was the one chosen next to her
sister, he wept still more bitterly for the state of the human race in
general. Alas! he inquired, where does virtue dwell? It has been
imagined to leave the crowded cities, and to reside in lowly cottages;
but here, as it were, are the hearts of two peasant girls laid open for
our inspection, and, oh! how black and sinful do they appear. D'Elsac