ng
the bell ropes on the wedding of the Dauphin."

Great merriment followed the speech of Father de Berey. Hortense rallied
the Chevalier, a good old widower, upon himself not travelling the plain
way between Peronne and St. Quintin, and jestingly offered herself
to travel with him, like a couple of gypsies carrying their budget of
happiness pick-a-back through the world.

"Better than that!" La Corne exclaimed. Hortense was worthy to ride on
the baggage-wagons in his next campaign! Would she go? She gave him her
hand. "I expect nothing else!" said she. "I am a soldier's daughter, and
expect to live a soldier's wife, and die a soldier's widow. But a truce
to jest. It is harder to be witty than wise," continued she. "What is
the matter with Cousin Le Gardeur?" Her eyes were fixed upon him as he
read a note just handed to him by a servant. He crushed it in his hand
with a flash of anger, and made a motion as if about to tear it, but did
not. He placed it in his bosom. But the hilarity of his countenance was
gone.

There was another person at the table whose quick eye, drawn by sisterly
affection, saw Le Gardeur's movement before even Hortense. Amelie was
impatient to leave her seat and go beside him, but she could not at the
moment leave the lively circle around her. She at once conjectured that
the note was from Angelique des Meloises. After drinking deeply two
or three times Le Gardeur arose, and with a faint excuse that did not
impose on his partner left the table. Amelie rose quickly also, excusing
herself to the Bourgeois, and joined her brother in the park, where the
cool night air blew fresh and inviting for a walk.

Pretty Cecile Touraugeau had caught a glimpse of the handwriting as she
sat by the side of Le Gardeur, and guessed correctly whence it had come
and why her partner so suddenly left the table.

She was out of humor; the red mark upon her forehead grew redder as she
pouted in visible discontent. But the great world moves on, carrying
alternate storms and sunshine upon its surface. The company rose from
the table--some to the ball-room, some to the park and conservatories.
Cecile's was a happy disposition, easily consoled for her sorrows. Every
trace of her displeasure was banished and almost forgotten from the
moment the gay, handsome Jumonville de Villiers invited her out to the
grand balcony, where, he said, the rarest pastime was going on.

And rare pastime it was! A group of laughing but half-s