to go out into the city, was a favorite pastime, truly a labor of love,
of the young gallants of that day,--an occupation, if very idle, at
least very agreeable to those participating in these stolen promenades,
and which have not, perhaps, been altogether discontinued in Quebec even
to the present day.

The pious nuns were of course entirely ignorant of the contrivances
of their fair pupils to amuse themselves in the city. At any rate they
good-naturedly overlooked things they could not quite prevent. They had
human hearts still under their snowy wimples, and perhaps did not wholly
lack womanly sympathy with the dear girls in their charge.

"Why are you not at Belmont to-day, Chevalier des Meloises?" boldly
asked Louise Roy, a fearless little questioner in a gay summer robe.
She was pretty, and sprightly as Titania. Her long chestnut hair was
the marvel and boast of the Convent and, what she prized more, the
admiration of the city. It covered her like a veil down to her knees
when she chose to let it down in a flood of splendor. Her deep gray eyes
contained wells of womanly wisdom. Her skin, fair as a lily of Artois,
had borrowed from the sun five or six faint freckles, just to prove the
purity of her blood and distract the eye with a variety of charms. The
Merovingian Princess, the long-haired daughter of kings, as she was
fondly styled by the nuns, queened it wherever she went by right divine
of youth, wit, and beauty.

"I should not have had the felicity of meeting you, Mademoiselle Roy,
had I gone to Belmont," replied the Chevalier, not liking the question
at all. "I preferred not to go."

"You are always so polite and complimentary," replied she, a trace of
pout visible on her pretty lips. "I do not see how any one could stay
away who was at liberty to go to Belmont! And the whole city has gone,
I am sure! for I see nobody in the street!" She held an eye-glass
coquettishly to her eye. "Nobody at all!" repeated she. Her companions
accused her afterwards of glancing equivocally at the Chevalier as she
made this remark; and she answered with a merry laugh that might imply
either assent or denial.

"Had you heard in the Convent of the festival at Belmont, Mademoiselle
Roy?" asked he, twirling his cane rather majestically.

"We have heard of nothing else and talked of nothing else for a whole
week!" replied she. "Our mistresses have been in a state of distraction
trying to stop our incessant whispering in the s