of
roses publicly presented to her in the chapel of St. Medard, and for the
following twelvemonth she was to be honoured by the title of the Rosiere
of Salency.' In little more than a week is our fete of the rose, and to-
day is the day in which the Salenciens meet before the officers of
justice to converse on the subject, and to choose three young girls from
whom the Seigneur de Salency must select the Rosiere. All the parents
and friends, and even the young girls themselves, are gone to hear this
discussion; and, unless it may be the sick or infirm, all our cottages
are deserted for the chamber of meeting."
"And you, Victorine," enquired Dorsain, "wherefore are you not there?"
She blushed, as she answered timidly, "Dear uncle, I am a heretic, or
what we term a protestant. I think such scenes encourage anything but
peace or family love."
"A heretic, a Protestant!" repeated D'Elsac. "How is that, Victorine?"
She blushed still more deeply, saying, in very low tones, "My aunt
Pauline, you know, married a native of Geneva, and went with him to dwell
in Geneva. My uncle Basil was a protestant, and my aunt became one also.
They had no family, uncle Dorsain, and my mother being very ill after my
birth, my aunt Pauline, who happened to be here, took me to her home, and
till I was fifteen, I never even saw my parents. My aunt is dead now,"
she added, the tears filling her eyes, "and my dear uncle Basil too, so I
have come back to live with my parents, and I am allowed to continue in
the faith in which I was reared, at least, till I am one and twenty, and
then Monsieur Le Prieur threatens to banish me from Salency, and my
family, unless I renounce the Protestant faith. I am now seventeen," she
added, "Caliste is two years older, Lisette is nearly a year younger, and
little Mimi is not eleven. I am allowed free intercourse with my family;
and though my bible is taken from me, yet I ought, and am very thankful,
for the indulgence shown to me."
"But why do you disapprove this fete, Victorine?" asked D'Elsac. "Does
it not encourage virtue?"
"Dearest uncle," she replied, "what is virtue? Are not we full of sin
and corrupt before God, and will not such a strife as this encourage
envy, hatred, and malice amongst us? Are we not driving peace from our
breasts and our firesides, uncle Dorsain, and can we expect to be holier
or better when she is banished from us? With peace goes love, and is not
'love thy neighbour
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