iry pen.

So one morning the bell of old St. Anne's rung out a cheerful peal. It
had been rebuilt and enlarged once, but it had a quaintly venerable
aspect. And up the aisle the troop of white clad maidens walked
reverently and knelt before the high altar where the candles were
burning and there was an odor of incense beside the spice of evergreens.

The priest made a very sacred ceremony of the marriage. Jeanne listened
in half affright. All their lives long, in sickness and health, in
misfortune, they must never cease to love, never allow any wavering
fancies, but go on to old age, to death itself.

Delisse looked very happy when her veil was thrown back. And then they
had a gala time. Friends came to see the new house and drink the bride's
health and wish the husband good luck. And the five bridesmaids and
their five attendants came to tea. There was much anxiety when the cups
were turned, and blushes and giggles and exclamations, as an old Indian
woman, who had a great reputation for foretelling, and would surely have
been hung in the Salem witchcraft, looked them over with an air of
mystery, and found the figure of a man with an outstretched hand, in the
bottom of Marie De Ber's cup.

"And she's the youngest. That isn't fair!" cried several of the girls,
while Madelon Dace smiled serenely, for she knew when the next trappers
came in her lover would be among them, and a speedy wedding follow.
Marie had never walked from church with a young man.

Then the dance in the evening! That was out of doors under the stars, in
the court at the back of the house. The Loisel brothers came with their
fiddles, and there was great merriment in a simple, delightful fashion,
and several of the maids had honeyed words said to them that meant a
good deal, and held out promises of the future. For though they took
their religion seriously in the services of the Church, they were gay
and light hearted, pleasure loving when the time of leisure came, or at
festivals and marriages.

CHAPTER V.

AN UNKNOWN QUANTITY.

"There was a pretty wedding to-day in St. Anne's," said Madelon Fleury,
glancing up at Laurent St. Armand, with soft, dark eyes. "I looked for
you. I should have asked you formally," laughing and showing her pearly
teeth, "but we had hardly thought of going. It was a sudden thing. And
the bridesmaids were quite a sight."

"There is an old English proverb," began Madame Fleury--

"'Who changes her na