ith my love for Him. I am yours as
I am His."

They remained for a few moments in the power of this sweet enthusiasm.
It was the calm, sincere effusion of a feeling which, like an
overflowing spring, poured forth its superabundance in little wavelets.
The events which separated these lovers produced a melancholy which only
made their happiness the keener, giving it a sense of something sharp,
like pain.

Felicie came back too soon. Emmanuel, inspired by that delightful tact
of love which discerns all feelings, left the sisters alone,--exchanging
a look with Marguerite to let her know how much this discretion cost
him, how hungry his soul was for that happiness so long desired, which
had just been consecrated by the betrothal of their hearts.

"Come here, little sister," said Marguerite, taking Felicie round the
neck. Then, passing into the garden they sat down on the bench where
generation after generation had confided to listening hearts their words
of love, their sighs of grief, their meditations and their projects. In
spite of her sister's joyous tone and lively manner, Felicie experienced
a sensation that was very like fear. Marguerite took her hand and felt
it tremble.

"Mademoiselle Felicie," said the elder, with her lips at her sister's
ear. "I read your soul. Pierquin has been here often in my absence, and
he has said sweet words to you, and you have listened to them." Felicie
blushed. "Don't defend yourself, my angel," continued Marguerite, "it
is so natural to love! Perhaps your dear nature will improve his; he is
egotistical and self-interested, but for all that he is a good man, and
his defects may even add to your happiness. He will love you as the best
of his possessions; you will be a part of his business affairs. Forgive
me this one word, dear love; you will soon correct the bad habit he has
acquired of seeing money in everything, by teaching him the business of
the heart."

Felicie could only kiss her sister.

"Besides," added Marguerite, "he has property; and his family belongs
to the highest and the oldest bourgeoisie. But you don't think I would
oppose your happiness even if the conditions were less prosperous, do
you?"

Felicie let fall the words, "Dear sister."

"Yes, you may confide in me," cried Marguerite, "sisters can surely tell
each other their secrets."

These words, so full of heartiness, opened the way to one of those
delightful conversations in which young girls tell all. When