a sweet song of her own composition,
written in the soft dialect of Provence, the Languedoc, full of the
sweet sadness of a tender, impassioned love.

Her voice, tremulous in its power, flowed in a thousand harmonies on the
enraptured ears of her listeners. Even the veteran card-players left a
game of whist unfinished, to cluster round the angelic singer.

Pierre Philibert sat like one in a trance. He loved music, and
understood it passing well. He had heard all the rare voices which Paris
prided itself in the possession of, but he thought he had never known
what music was till now. His heart throbbed in sympathy with every
inflection of the voice of Amelie, which went through him like a sweet
spell of enchantment. It was the voice of a disembodied spirit singing
in the language of earth, which changed at last into a benediction and
good-night for the parting guests, who, at an earlier hour than usual,
out of consideration for the fatigue of their hosts, took their leave of
the Manor House and its hospitable inmates.

The family, as families will do upon the departure of their guests, drew
up in a narrower circle round the fire, that blessed circle of freedom
and confidence which belongs only to happy households. The novelty
of the situation kept up the interest of the day, and they sat and
conversed until a late hour.

The Lady de Tilly reclined comfortably in her fauteuil looking with
good-natured complacency upon the little group beside her. Amelie,
sitting on a stool, reclined her head against the bosom of her aunt,
whose arm embraced her closely and lovingly as she listened with
absorbing interest to an animated conversation between her aunt and
Pierre Philibert.

The Lady de Tilly drew Pierre out to talk of his travels, his studies,
and his military career, of which he spoke frankly and modestly. His
high principles won her admiration; the chivalry and loyalty of his
character, mingled with the humanity of the true soldier, touched a
chord in her own heart, stirring within her the sympathies of a nature
akin to his.

The presence of Pierre Philibert, so unforeseen at the old Manor House,
seemed to Amelie the work of Providence for a good and great end--the
reformation of her brother. If she dared to think of herself in
connection with him it was with fear and trembling, as a saint on earth
receives a beatific vision that may only be realized in Heaven.

Amelie, with peculiar tact, sought to entangle Le Gar