beneath
the trees, towards the cottage of Widow Gostillon. After them came bands
of youths and boys, and anon men and matrons, and the elders of the
place, till nearly all the little community was gathered round the
house. Early as it was, Julia had risen, and was at work. She had had
her own pleasant anticipations of the fete--though she had not heard
that a _rosiere_ was to be crowned, much less that the honour was in
store for herself--and had intended, by commencing some hours earlier
than usual, to have done her work so much the sooner, that she might
share the pleasures of the festal day. But all thoughts of work were
quickly banished by her eager visitors, who, touched even by the fact,
that they had found her busy at the time when all were holiday-making,
embraced her, praised her, bade her prepare for coronation, wept,
laughed, chatted, clapped their hands, jumped, danced, and made such a
bustle, that Widow Gostillon, in some consternation, cried out from her
chamber to know what was the matter. And the poor widow wept, too, when
she discovered what was going on--wept solemnly in thinking over Julia's
fidelity to herself, her industry, cleverness, self-denial, sweetness,
and, as a proud mother might, of her beauty. And presently the
neighbours brought forth the poor invalid in her chair, and placed her
on a pleasant spot beneath the trees, whence she might behold the
installation. Then Julia retired with those appointed to be her
attendants--her tiring-women, the ladies of her court; and when, some
time after, she came forth, blushing and trembling, and with happy tears
upon her face, wearing her simple holiday dress of white muslin,
ornamented, in charming style, with wreaths of roses, the cries of 'Vive
la rosiere!' might have been heard a long way off.

A little while, and sounds of music and of many voices filled the Grande
Allee. The long rows of booths and marquees, dancing-rooms, gymnasiums,
toy-tables, _bonbon_ tables, fruit-stalls, &c. &c. were surrounded by
busy crowds: all was activity and cheerfulness. In a large open space in
the midst, a short distance from the front of the chateau, the flowery
throne, gorgeous in variety and vividness of colours, was set up on a
dais on the greensward. The band of celebrants, with Julia and her train
in their midst, advanced. Little Cecilia walked by her sister's side,
hand in hand, in proud surprise. Before them, an aged peasant marched
solemnly, bareheaded save