e, in conclusion. "That Englishman
grew kinder every day we were there, until we began to feel at
home."

They were all mystified, but I thought I could understand it. We
had a long evening of music, and I bade them all good-by before
going to bed, for they were to be off early.

Well, the morning came clear, and before I was out of bed I heard
the coach-horn, the merry laughter of ladies under my window, the
prancing hoofs, and the crack of the whip as they all went away.
It surprised me greatly to find Louise at the breakfast table when
I came below-stairs; I shall not try to say how much it pleased me.
She was gowned in pink, a red rose at her bosom. I remember, as if
it were yesterday, the brightness of her big eyes, the glow in her
cheeks, the sweet dignity of her tall, fine figure when she rose
and gave me her hand.

"I did feel sorry, ma'm'selle, that I could not go; but now--now I
am happy," was my remark.

"Oh, captain, you are very gallant," said she, as we took seats.
"I was not in the mood for merrymaking, and then, I am reading a
book."

"A book! May its covers be the gates of happiness," I answered.

"Eh bien! it is a tale of love," said she.

"Of a man for a woman?" I inquired.

"Of a lady that loved two knights, and knew not which the better."

"Is it possible and--and reasonable?" I inquired. "In a tale
things should go as--well, as God plans them."

"Quite possible," said she, "for in such a thing as love who knows
what--what may happen?"

"Except he have a wide experience," I answered.

"And have God's eyes," said she. "Let me tell you. They were both
handsome, brave, splendid, of course, but there was a difference:
the one had a more perfect beauty of form and face, the other a
nobler soul."

"And which will she favor?"

"Alas! I have not read, and do not know her enough to judge," was
her answer; "but I shall hate her if she does not take him with the
better soul."

"And why?" I could hear my heart beating.

"Love is not love unless it be--" She paused, thinking. "Dieu!
from soul to soul," she added feelingly.

She was looking down, a white, tapered finger stirring the red
petals of the rose. Then she spoke in a low, sweet tone that
trembled with holy feeling and cut me like a sword of the spirit
going to its very hilt in my soul.

"Love looks to what is noble," said she, "or it is vain--it is
wicked; it fails; it dies in a day, like the rose. True love, that