Aubette. I did not know how ill you had been till to-day,
Marie: I had been told you were quite recovered."

His cold, hard manner wounded her: "Oh, I am better, thank you;" but as
she spoke her sight grew dizzy: she would have fallen if Leon had not
caught her in his arms. She felt that he clasped her closely for an
instant, and then he loosed his hold.

"Thank you!" She freed herself. "I am better. I will go home now,
Monsieur Roussel."

He took off his hat mechanically, and Marie turned toward St. Gertrude.

But she did not move: she had no power to go forward. An impulse
stronger than her will was holding her. She looked round: Leon had not
moved--he stood with his eyes fixed on the ground.

"I must tell you something," she said. Leon started: he had never heard
Marie speak in such a humble tone. "I was in the wagon just now, and I
listened to your talk with Monsieur Michel." Her cheeks grew crimson.
"But, Monsieur Roussel, you are in error about me. Nicolas Marais is my
friend"--Leon's face grew so stern that her eyes drooped and her voice
faltered--"but he will never be more to me. He has always been my
friend."

Leon came close to her and took her hand: "Marie"--his voice was so
harsh and severe that she shrunk from him--"you must tell the truth, and
you must not be angry if I doubt you. My child, did I not see Nicolas
kiss the letter you sent him, and look at you as he kissed it?"

"Did Elise Lesage tell you I wrote that letter?" But Marie's fear had
left her. She smiled up at her lover, once more his own arch, bright
Marie: "How dared you believe her, Leon? I have a great mind not to tell
you the truth."

But Leon Roussel was satisfied, for while she spoke his arm had folded
round her again, and he was much too happy to trouble himself about
Nicolas Marais.

* * * * *

Leon and Marie are to be married in November, and Mam'selle Lesage has
been so indisposed that for two consecutive Saturdays she has sent a
deputy to collect sous in the market of Aubette.

KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.

SALMON FISHING IN CANADA.

Fifty years ago, when the manners and habits of the Americans were very
different from what they now are, there lived in Boston two gentlemen so
far in advance of their age as to devote much time to shooting and
fishing. These pursuits were denounced by the Puritans and their
descendants as a sinful waste of time, and there is a letter extant from
one of