drinking, set in. The Palais resounded with
revelry until the morning sun looked into the great window, blushing red
at the scene of drunken riot that had become habitual in the Palace of
the Intendant.

CHAPTER XV. THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE.

The few words of sympathy dropped by Bigot in the secret chamber had
fallen like manna on the famine of Caroline's starving affections as she
remained on the sofa, where she had half fallen, pressing her bosom with
her hands as if a new-born thought lay there. "I am sure he meant it!"
repeated she to herself. "I feel that his words were true, and for the
moment his look and tone were those of my happy maiden days in Acadia!
I was too proud then of my fancied power, and thought Bigot's love
deserved the surrender of my very conscience to his keeping. I forgot
God in my love for him; and, alas for me! that now is part of my
punishment! I feel not the sin of loving him! My penitence is not
sincere when I can still rejoice in his smile! Woe is me! Bigot! Bigot!
unworthy as thou art, I cannot forsake thee! I would willingly die at
thy feet, only spurn me not away, nor give to another the love that
belongs to me, and for which I have paid the price of my immortal soul!"

She relapsed into a train of bitter reflections as her thoughts reverted
to herself. Silence had been gradually creeping through the house. The
noisy debauch was at an end. There were trampings, voices, and footfalls
for a while longer, and then they died away. Everything was still
and silent as the grave. She knew the feast was over and the guests
departed; but not whether Bigot had accompanied them.

She sprang up as a low knock came to her door, thinking it was he, come
to bid her adieu. It was with a feeling of disappointment she heard the
voice of Dame Tremblay saying, "My Lady, may I enter?"

Caroline ran her fingers through her disordered hair, pressed her
handkerchief into her eyes, and hastily tried to obliterate every trace
of her recent agony. She bade her enter.

Dame Tremblay, shrewd as became the whilom Charming Josephine of Lake
Beauport, had a kind heart, nevertheless, under her old-fashioned
bodice. She sincerely pitied this young creature who was passing her
days in prayer and her nights in weeping, although she might rather
blame her in secret for not appreciating better the honor of a residence
at Beaumanoir and the friendship of the Intendant.

"I do not think she is prettier than I, when