my mother,
but she does not see as I do. I dare not tell my father all I think,
and Juste is so much a creature of moods that I am never sure whether he
will be sensible and kind, or scoff. One can not bear to be laughed at.
And as for my sister, she never thinks; she only lives; and she looks
it--looks beautiful. But there, dear Lucie, I must not tire you with my
childish philosophy, though I feel no longer a child. You would not know
your friend. I can not tell what has come over me. Voila!

To-morrow we go to visit General Montcalm, who has just arrived in the
colony. Bigot and his gay set are not likely to be there. My mother
insists that I shall never darken the doors of the Intendant's palace.

Do you still hold to your former purpose of keeping a daily journal? If
so, I beg you to copy into it this epistle and your answer; and when I
go up to your dear manor house at Beauce next summer, we will read over
our letters and other things set down, and gossip of the changes come
since we met last. Do sketch the old place for me (as will I our new
villa on dear Isle Orleans), and make interest with the good cure to
bring it to me with your letter, since there are no posts, no postmen,
yet between here and Beauce. The cure most kindly bears this to you, and
says he will gladly be our messenger. Yesterday he said to me, shaking
his head in a whimsical way, "But no treason, mademoiselle, and no
heresy or schism." I am not quite sure what he meant. I dare hardly
think he had Captain Moray in his mind. I would not for the world so
lessen my good opinion of him as to think him suspicious of me when no
other dare; and so I put his words down to chance hitting, to a humorous
fancy.

Be sure, dear Lucie, I shall not love you less for giving me a prompt
answer. Tell me of what you are thinking and what doing. If Juste can be
spared from the Governor's establishment, may I bring him with me next
summer? He is a difficult, sparkling sort of fellow, but you are so
steady-tempered, so full of tact, getting your own way so quietly and
cleverly, that I am sure I should find plenty of straw for the bricks of
my house of hope, my castle in Spain!

Do not give too much of my share of thy heart elsewhere, and continue to
think me, my dear Lucie, thy friend, loyal and loving,

ALIXE DUVARNEY.

P.S.--Since the above was written we have visited the General. Both
Monsieur Doltaire and Captain Moray were there, but neither took much
not