nd no doubt, between
the young man and Fleur-de-Lys. From the embarrassed coldness of the
officer, it was easy to see that on his side, at least, love had
no longer any part in the matter. His whole air was expressive of
constraint and weariness, which our lieutenants of the garrison would
to-day translate admirably as, "What a beastly bore!"

The poor dame, very much infatuated with her daughter, like any other
silly mother, did not perceive the officer's lack of enthusiasm, and
strove in low tones to call his attention to the infinite grace with
which Fleur-de-Lys used her needle or wound her skein.

"Come, little cousin," she said to him, plucking him by the sleeve, in
order to speak in his ear, "Look at her, do! see her stoop."

"Yes, truly," replied the young man, and fell back into his glacial and
absent-minded silence.

A moment later, he was obliged to bend down again, and Dame Aloise said
to him,--

"Have you ever beheld a more gay and charming face than that of your
betrothed? Can one be more white and blonde? are not her hands perfect?
and that neck--does it not assume all the curves of the swan in
ravishing fashion? How I envy you at times! and how happy you are to be
a man, naughty libertine that you are! Is not my Fleur-de-Lys adorably
beautiful, and are you not desperately in love with her?"

"Of course," he replied, still thinking of something else.

"But do say something," said Madame Aloise, suddenly giving his shoulder
a push; "you have grown very timid."

We can assure our readers that timidity was neither the captain's virtue
nor his defect. But he made an effort to do what was demanded of him.

"Fair cousin," he said, approaching Fleur-de-Lys, "what is the subject
of this tapestry work which you are fashioning?" "Fair cousin,"
responded Fleur-de-Lys, in an offended tone, "I have already told you
three times. 'Tis the grotto of Neptune."

It was evident that Fleur-de-Lys saw much more clearly than her mother
through the captain's cold and absent-minded manner. He felt the
necessity of making some conversation.

"And for whom is this Neptunerie destined?"

"For the Abbey of Saint-Antoine des Champs," answered Fleur-de-Lys,
without raising her eyes.

The captain took up a corner of the tapestry.

"Who, my fair cousin, is this big gendarme, who is puffing out his
cheeks to their full extent and blowing a trumpet?"

"'Tis Triton," she replied.

There was a rather pettish intonation i