ealousy or
distaste at hearing his sister's praises sounded so frequently to his
own detriment. There was no praise for him. The poor, fond mother's
heart was too full of Laure. Her son had been a bitter disappointment
to her, and, to her mind, was fitted for nothing but to make himself
an adoring slave to his sister's beauty; and this, the gentle,
generous fellow certainly was. He was always ready to serve her; always
affectionate, always faithful; and Mere Giraud, who was blind to, or
careless of, all his loving, constant labor for her own comfort, deigned
to see that he did his duty toward Laure.

"He has at least the sense to appreciate her as far as he is able," she
said.

So when Valentin, who had a talent for engraving, was discovered by some
one who understood his genius, and could make use of it, and was offered
a place in the great, gay city, Mere Giraud formed an ambitious plan. He
should take Laure and find her a position also; she had the fingers of a
fair magician, and could embroider marvelously. So she trusted Laure to
him, and the two bade farewell to St. Croix and departed together. A
month passed, and then there came a letter containing good news.
Valentin was doing well, and Laure also. She had found a place in a
great family where she was to embroider and wait upon a young lady. They
were rich people, and were kind, and paid her well, and she was happy.

"When they first saw her, they were astonished," wrote the simple,
tender Valentin. "I went with her to present herself. My employer had
recommended her. There is a son who is past his youth, and who has
evidently seen the world. He is aristocratic and fair, and slightly
bald, but extremely handsome still. He sat holding a newspaper in his
long, white fingers, and when we entered, he raised his eyes above it
and looked at Laure, and I heard him exclaim under his breath, '_Mon
Dieu!_ as if her beauty fairly startled him."

When the _Cure_, to whom the proud mother showed the letter, read this
part, he did not seem as rejoiced as Mere Giraud had expected. On the
contrary, he looked a little grave, and rubbed his forehead.

"Ah, ah!" he said; "there lies the danger."

"Danger!" exclaimed Mere Giraud, starting.

He turned, and regarded her with a rather hesitant air, as if he were
at once puzzled and fearful,--puzzled by her simplicity, and fearful of
grieving her unnecessarily.

"Valentin is a good lad," he said. "Valentin will be watchful,--t