you
detect in them one trace of that sadness you talk about, I shall grow as
melancholy as yourself, and for as little cause. Come! you shall confess
before three days, brother, if you will only help me to be gay, that
your sister has the lightest heart in New France."

CHAPTER XXVII. CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS AND CONFIDENT TO-MORROWS.

The ladies retired to their several rooms, and after a general
rearranging of toilets descended to the great parlor, where they were
joined by Messire La Lande, the cure of the parish, a benevolent, rosy
old priest, and several ladies from the neighborhood, with two or three
old gentlemen of a military air and manner, retired officers of the army
who enjoyed their pensions and kept up their respectability at a cheaper
rate in the country than they could do in the city.

Felix Beaudoin had for the last two hours kept the cooks in hot water.
He was now superintending the laying of the table, resolved that,
notwithstanding his long absence from home, the dinner should be a
marvellous success.

Amelie was very beautiful to-day. Her face was aglow with pure air and
exercise, and she felt happy in the apparent contentment of her brother,
whom she met with Pierre on the broad terrace of the Manor House.

She was dressed with exquisite neatness, yet plainly. An antique cross
of gold formed her only adornment except her own charms. That cross she
had put on in honor of Pierre Philibert. He recognized it with delight
as a birthday gift to Amelie which he had himself given her during their
days of juvenile companionship, on one of his holiday visits to Tilly.

She was conscious of his recognition of it,--it brought a flush to her
cheek. "It is in honor of your visit, Pierre," said she, frankly, "that
I wear your gift. Old friendship lasts well with me, does it not? But
you will find more old friends than me at Tilly who have not forgotten
you."

"I am already richer than Croesus, if friendship count as riches,
Amelie. The hare had many friends, but none at last; I am more fortunate
in possessing one friend worth a million."

"Nay, you have the million too, if good wishes count in your favor,
Pierre, you are richer"--the bell in the turret of the chateau began to
ring for dinner, drowning her voice somewhat.

"Thanks to the old bell for cutting short the compliment, Pierre,"
continued she, laughing; "you don't know what you have lost! but
in compensation you shall be my cavalier, and escor