Marguerite might soon meet again in Old
France--a wish which she echoed with her heart, if not with her
lips--he bade adieu once more to Quebec.

[Illustration: Tailpiece to Chapter VI]

PART II.

THE LETTRE DE CACHET.

[Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter I]

THE LETTRE DE CACHET.

CHAPTER I.

The pleasant spring-time had returned once more. Far away in New
France the snows that had mantled the ground for months were
disappearing fast. In Old France the flowers already decked the
meadows and grassy banks, the blossoms had opened, and the song-birds
had begun to break the dreary silence that had reigned in the hedgerows
and the woods, for in those days Old France could let the little
warblers sing without at once devoting them to eke out the rustic meal.
Perhaps in all the west of France there was no tract of country in
which this season was more peculiarly attractive, or could present a
more charming landscape, than that overlooked from the terrace of the
old Chateau de Valricour. It was, however, of the class not
appreciated by those who hold that there is no real beauty, properly so
called, except in rugged, wild, and romantic scenery. Here were no
deep ravines, no dark glens, no bold scarped rocky heights or frightful
precipices. Salvator Rosa would have turned away, whilst Claude would
have desired to linger long to catch some new effect of bright light
gradually softening away in clear yet mellowed distance. There was no
eminence that could be dignified by the name of a mountain, yet there
were hills in one part of the horizon, and slight undulations in the
middle ground sufficient to prevent any idea of monotony. The fields
were green, the trees sufficiently abundant, and a not inconsiderable
stream winding about, and sometimes losing itself for a while behind a
rising ground topped by a quaint old windmill, gave to the scene
variety and life. Homesteads and cottages of all sorts and sizes
dotted the landscape. One or two edifices there were, moreover, of
more pretentious dimensions, evidently the residences of the wealthier
seigneurs, whilst in the extreme distance, flanked by large patches of
woodland, the eye rested on a magnificent chateau covering many and
many a rood, the princely abode of the most noble and most respected
Marquis de Beaujardin.

There was one circumstance, however, connected with this landscape
which, although common to all parts of France in those days, pl