m into the dust,
while she half resolved to be to this man all that he believed her to
be, a true and devoted woman.

"Read my destiny, Le Gardeur," said she, earnestly. "You are a
Seminarist. They say the wise fathers of the Seminary study deeply the
science of the stars, and the students all become adepts in it."

"Would that my starry heaven were more propitious, Angelique," replied
he, gaily kissing her eyes. "I care not for other skies than these! My
fate and fortune are here."

Her bosom heaved with mingled passions. The word of hope and the word
of denial struggled on her lips for mastery. Her blood throbbed quicker
than the beat of the golden pendule on the marble table; but, like a
bird, the good impulse again escaped her grasp.

"Look, Le Gardeur," said she. Her delicate finger pointed at Perseus,
who was ascending the eastern heavens: "there is my star. Mere
Malheur,--you know her,--she once said to me that that was my natal
star, which would rule my life."

Like all whose passions pilot them, Angelique believed in destiny.

Le Gardeur had sipped a few drops of the cup of astrology from the
venerable Professor Vallier. Angelique's finger pointed to the star
Algol--that strange, mutable star that changes from bright to dark with
the hours, and which some believe changes men's hearts to stone.

"Mere Malheur lied!" exclaimed he, placing his arm round her, as if to
protect her from the baleful influence. "That cursed star never presided
over your birth, Angelique! That is the demon star Algol."

Angelique shuddered, and pressed still closer to him, as if in fear.

"Mere Malheur would not tell me the meaning of that star, but bade me,
if a saint, to watch and wait; if a sinner, to watch and pray. What
means Algol, Le Gardeur?" she half faltered.

"Nothing for you, love. A fig for all the stars in the sky! Your bright
eyes outshine them all in radiance, and overpower them in influence.
All the music of the spheres is to me discord compared with the voice of
Angelique des Meloises, whom alone I love!"

As he spoke a strain of heavenly harmony arose from the chapel of the
Convent of the Ursulines, where they were celebrating midnight service
for the safety of New France. Amid the sweet voices that floated up on
the notes of the pealing organ was clearly distinguished that of Mere
St. Borgia, the aunt of Angelique, who led the choir of nuns. In trills
and cadences of divine melody the voice of Mere St. Bo