wn under a tree while Pierre crossed over the brook to gather on the
opposite side some flowers which had caught her eye.

"Tell me which, Amelie!" exclaimed he, "for they are all yours; you
are Flora's heiress, with right to enter into possession of her whole
kingdom!"

"The water-lilies, Pierre, those, and those, and those; they are to
deck the shrine of Notre Dame des Victoires. Aunt has a vow there, and
to-morrow it must be paid; I too."

He looked up at her with eyes of admiration. "A vow! Let me share in its
payment, Amelie," said he.

"You may, but you shall not ask me what it is. There now, do not wet
yourself further! You have gathered more lilies than we can carry home."

"But I have my own thank-offering to make to Notre Dame des Victoires,
for I think I love God even better for your sake, Amelie."

"Fie, Pierre, say not that! and yet I know what you mean. I ought to
reprove you, but for your penance you shall gather more lilies, for I
fear you need many prayers and offerings to expiate,--" she hesitated to
finish the sentence.

"My idolatry, Amelie," said he, completing her meaning.

"I doubt it is little better, Pierre, if you love me as you say. But you
shall join in my offering, and that will do for both. Please pull that
one bunch of lilies and no more, or Our Lady of Victory will judge you
harder than I do."

Pierre stepped from stone to stone over the gentle brook, gathering the
golden lilies, while Amelie clasped her hands and silently thanked God
for this happy hour of her life.

She hardly dared trust herself to look at Pierre except by furtive
glances of pride and affection; but as his form and features were
reflected in a shadow of manly beauty in the still pool, she withdrew
not her loving gaze from his shadow, and leaning forward towards his
image,

"A thousand times she kissed him in the brook,
Across the flowers with bashful eyelids down!"

Amelie had royally given her love to Pierre Philibert. She had given it
without stint or measure, and with a depth and strength of devotion of
which more facile natures know nothing.

Pierre, with his burden of golden lilies, came back over the brook and
seated himself beside her; his arm encircled her, and she held his hand
firmly clasped in both of hers.

"Amelie," said he, "I believe now in the power of fate to remove
mountains of difficulty and cast them into the sea. How often, while
watching the stars wheel silently ov