entigny, and he was too perfect a gentleman.

CHAPTER XXXV

AT ST. ELPHEGE

All afternoon of the day of his arrival at St. Elphege, lofty clouds had
been moving in threatening masses across the sky. When the Lecours were
rejoicing together at supper, a storm came on, producing a raw, wet
evening, which was not unwelcome to the reunited family, for it kept
them undisturbed.

Old Lecour, to denote his satisfaction at his son's return, brought
forth his fiddle and played some of the merry airs of the Province, an
action which touched Germain's heart.

"Is this the noble," exclaimed he to himself, as he looked, with a heart
full of affection, at the roughly-dressed, homely figure, "whom I would
produce to the Noailles, the Montmorencys and the Vaudreuils, as my
father? Perhaps not; but I would offer him before sounder judges as
their superior." But notwithstanding his goodwill, there is a limit
where content is impossible in such things.

The Versailles _elegant_ could not but see in everything about him an
inevitable contrast with his late life. He felt unable to re-accustom
himself to the low-ceiled chambers, the rude appliances, the rough
dress, the country manners, the accent and phrases of his
family--things in respect of which he had at one time believed them
quite superior. Whole-heartedly concealing his impressions and his
dejection, however, he made himself as pleasant as possible. Madame had
thrown open her parlour, a rare occurrence.

When the rain began to beat against the windows, the old man called in
the Indian dwarf, and with his assistance made a fire of logs which
crackled merrily in the fireplace and threw cheerful, light and warmth
upon the circle.

Madame lit her precious sconces of wax tapers for the first time since
her daughter's wedding, and all drew closer to listen to the accounts
which came from the lips of the long-absent son. The father put his
violin aside, seated himself in his tall-backed arm-chair and gazed
alternately into the fire and at his son's face. The mother hung upon
her favourite's words and movements as mothers ever will. The convent
girl, his youngest sister, worshipped him with eyes and ears--to her he
was the hero of her family, whom she could measure in the lists against
the vaunted brothers of her proud Quebec school-mates, Lanaudieres,
Bleurys, la Gorgendieres, Tonnancours and those others, who, familiar
with the doings of the Castle, looked down upon the