h theirs, "what have you
done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"

"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and for
not asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing! I have
given up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"

"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister was
my sole heritage, and I now claim it."

"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day I
could share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out in
the wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"

"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" asked
Amelie, seizing her hand passionately.

"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! great
as is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--no
deeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sins
forbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him at
once to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murder
of the good Bourgeois."

"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dream
of fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father of
Pierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"

At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Lady
de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs as ever drew human pity.

"Le Gardeur! Le Gardeur! Good God! what will they do with him, aunt? Is
he to die?" cried she imploringly, as with streaming eyes she looked up
at her aunt.

"Listen, Amelie! Compose yourself and you shall hear. I was in the
Church of Notre Dame des Victoires when I received the tidings. It was
long before the messenger found me. I rose instantly and hastened to
the house of the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloody
vesture. I cannot describe the sad sight, Amelie! I there learned that
the Governor and La Corne St. Luc had been to the house of the Bourgeois
and had returned to the Castle."

"Oh, aunt, did you see him? Did you see the good old Bourgeois? And you
know he is dead?"

"Yes, Amelie, I saw him, and could have wished my eyesight blasted
forever after. Do not ask me more."

"But I must, aunt! Did you see--oh, why may I not yet utter his dear
name?--did you see Pierre?"

"Yes, Amelie. Pierre came home unexpectedly while I was weeping over the
dead corpse of his father. Poor Pierre! my own sorrows we