said Victor, with a
derisive smile; then turning to Julia, with a face in which penitence,
respect, and affection were well simulated, he exclaimed: 'but thou,
dear Julia, art the sovereign of my soul! in whose hand my fate is
placed. It is for you to shape my destiny: will you award me love or
perdition? At your bidding, no honourable deed shall be too high to mark
my obedience.'

'Then return to Marie Buren, and redeem the promise you made her,'
exclaimed Julia warmly.

'Nay, sweet Julia, if my priestess bids me turn away from heaven, I am
justified in protesting. Hope is the spring whence good and great works
flow. Bid me despair, and you bid me seek ruin.'

'Pooh! pooh!' exclaimed the young girl with contempt. 'I am plain Julia
Gostillon, who loves frankness and honour. You have neither one nor
other, and so I love you not; and again and again I repeat it, I will
have nothing more to say to you.'

Though the persevering Victor continued the colloquy, and exerted
himself to the utmost, sparing neither vows nor tears, Julia remained
firm. At last, seeing that his case was hopeless, he changed his tone
into one of sorrowful resignation--declared that honest frankness was a
great virtue, and that it was well they had discovered that their
affection was not reciprocal; and, in conclusion, begged the wearied
Julia to accompany him that night to the chateau for the last time, for
the purpose of explaining to his father, who might otherwise be troubled
with suspicions, that their courtship was broken off by mutual consent.
After much persuasion, Julia consented, and accordingly paid her last
visit to the chateau that same evening.

A few days after this occurrence, the 15th of June arrived, the day of
the fete. On the preceding evening, unknown to the good Julia, a score
of light-hearted girls were weaving garlands of flowers, and preparing
the crown of roses, in the house of neighbour Morelle; in that of
neighbour Bontemps another gay party were industriously ornamenting a
wooden throne with coverings, hangings, and cushions of
brightest-coloured flowers; and half the people of the hamlet were
thinking of Julia, and preparing bouquets, pincushions, caps, and
various little trifles, to present to her on the morrow.

In due course the morrow came. The summer sun had not risen many hours,
when troops of bright-eyed girls, lustrous with rosy cheeks, braided
hair, snow-white gowns, and streaming ribbons, went, tripping