thought was, how fortunate for her brother that Pierre had returned;
her second, how agreeable to herself. Why? She could not think why: she
wilfully drew an inference away from the truth that lay in her heart--it
was wholly for the sake of her brother she rejoiced in the return of his
friend and preserver. Her heart beat a little faster than usual--that
was the result of her long walk and disappointment at not meeting
Le Gardeur on her arrival yesterday. But she feared to explore her
thoughts: a rigid self-examination might discover what she instinctively
felt was deeply concealed there.

A subtile, indefinable prevision had suggested to her that Colonel
Philibert would not have failed to meet Le Gardeur at Beaumanoir, and
that he would undoubtedly accompany her brother on his return and call
to pay his respects to the Lady de Tilly and--to herself. She felt her
cheek glow at the thought, yet she was half vexed at her own foolish
fancy, as she called it. She tried to call upon her pride, but that came
very laggardly to the relief of her discomposure.

Her interview, too, with Angelique des Meloises had caused her no little
disquiet. The bold avowals of Angelique with reference to the Intendant
had shocked Amelie. She knew that her brother had given more of his
thoughts to this beautiful, reckless girl than was good for his peace,
should her ambition ever run counter to his love.

The fond sister sighed deeply when she reflected that the woman who had
power to make prize of Le Gardeur's love was not worthy of him.

It is no rare thing for loving sisters who have to resign their brothers
to others' keeping to think so. But Amelie knew that Angelique des
Meloises was incapable of that true love which only finds its own in the
happiness of another. She was vain, selfish, ambitious, and--what Amelie
did not yet know--possessed of neither scruple nor delicacy in attaining
her objects.

It had chimed the hour of noon upon the old clock of the Recollets, and
Amelie still sat looking wistfully over the great square of the Place
d'Armes, and curiously scanning every horseman that rode across it. A
throng of people moved about the square, or passed in and out of the
great arched gateway of the Castle of St. Louis. A bright shield,
bearing the crown and fleur-de-lis, surmounted the gate, and under it
walked, with military pace, a couple of sentries, their muskets and
bayonets flashing out in the sun every time they wheeled to