sorrowed as one without hope, for his religion taught him that without
merit no man can see the Lord; and still grieving he felt the hand of
some person upon his shoulder, and looking round he perceived it was
Margoton.

"Brother," she said, "our dear child is, I trust, better. I have left
Victorine to attend her, indeed she will not let Victorine go out of her
sight; but Valmont thought we had better make our appearance, if only for
an hour, at Lisette's fete. The Seigneur has shown much kindness and
condescension to Lisette, and it would not do for us to appear
inattentive for so much goodness, though I must own I shall not be easy
till I return to my poor child."

"Then if you must stay here," said Dorsain, "if you must do so much
violence to your feelings, I think you had better go nearer to those who
are dancing."

"Yes, I know I ought," she answered, "but I am ashamed for my children's
sake. Too, too many suspect the cause of my poor Caliste's illness. Oh,
Dorsain, how proud I was of my two daughters! how neglectful of
Victorine! and now my beautiful girls make me blush for them, and my
modest Victorine by her own unobtrusiveness has attracted, it is true,
but little admiration, yet nothing but respect and love can be attached
to her name."

"But Lisette," inquired Dorsain, with an air of astonishment, for though
he had heard words from her lips during their walk to the chateau that
made him ashamed for her, yet he believed they were known only to
himself. "What of Lisette, sister?"

"Look at her now!" exclaimed her mother. "Look at her, Dorsain. Would
you think by her countenance that at this moment the sister, who was her
chief companion in infancy, was lying on a sick bed, to which she has
been the innocent means of bringing her?"

Dorsain sighed deeply when his eye rested on Lisette, then dancing under
the trees, and laughing and conversing with her partner with all the
selfish frivolity of her nature; but just at that moment her father
approached her and whispered something in her ear, and even at that
distance her uncle could see by the light of the lamps near which she
stood, the expression of her countenance change to angry discontent. Her
mirth ceased however, evincing itself so openly, and on the first
opportunity she withdrew with her partner from the observation of her
father.

The mother repeated D'Elsac's sigh, and then left him, to show herself to
the dancers. Scarcely had she go