VICTORINE DUROCHER.

It was towards the end of the pleasant month of May, that Dorsain D'Elsac

reached Salency, in Picardy, and stopped at the door of his sister's

cottage, a Madame Durocher, who dwelt in that village. Dorsain D'Elsac

was one of three children. The elder, Pauline, however, was no more; she

had married, but was never a mother, so that the children of Margoton

Durocher, his remaining sister, were the nearest relatives he had left in

the world. It is true D'Elsac had a wife, one, I must say, of the best

tempered women in all Dauphiny,--she was a native of Grenoble, in that

province,--but she was now getting on in years, and was often very weary

of her daily employment, and yet she had no one to whom she could

occasionally entrust her duties.

It was one evening, when complaining of this to her husband, that Madame

D'Elsac suddenly exclaimed, "What say you, Dorsain, of sending to Salency

for one of your sister Margoton Durocher's grown up daughters; as Pauline

has left no family, we may ask Margoton to let us have one of her three

good-sized girls? Had we not better have one of your own nieces,

Dorsain, than a stranger?"

Though Madame D'Elsac, having once thought of this plan, was ready and

willing to put it into execution without a thought, not so her worthy

husband. He must first weigh the affair steadily in his mind, and repeat

over and over again to his wife, that if once they took a relative into

their house, they could not part with her as a hired attendant if she did

not suit them; "and then you know, Delphine," he added, "you and I are so

happy and comfortable together, that I should not like to invite one to

our home who might make that home disagreeable."

Madame D'Elsac's disposition was of that easy kind that she allowed her

worthy partner almost to talk himself against the arrangement altogether,

and the matter would probably have dropped without any consequences, had

not Dorsain mentioned it to a neighbour, who had been at Salency two

years before, and who had been highly delighted with the lovely daughters

of Madame Durocher. So the affair was settled, that D'Elsac should

invite a niece to wait upon his wife, and to reside with them on their

pretty little farm, near Grenoble, on the borders of Swisserland. The

next point in question was, whether this selected niece should be

Caliste, Victorine, or Lisette, for as to little Mimi, the fourth

daughter of Madame Durocher, she was considered altogether too young for

the office.

Monsieur D'Elsac had not seen his sister nor her children for many years,

and it is probable, that this slow-minded gentleman would have pondered

till his death, upon which he should favour of his nieces, if the quicker

Delphine had not proposed that he should go over to Salency and see the

young girls before he made his selection. So the affair now really

appeared likely to come to some settlement after all, particularly as

Monsieur D'Elsac did arrive safely in Salency, mounted on one of his own

farm horses, from which he alighted at the door of Monique.

The cottage of his sister was small, containing only three apartments and

an outer kitchen, and the furniture was of the simplest kind. As the

family were numerous, the kitchen was used as a sleeping apartment, the

head of the bed being made in a kind of cupboard, into which in the

daytime the bedding was turned up, and the cupboard doors closed. A few

chairs, a table, and a glass case, in which was a coarse waxen figure,

flauntingly dressed, representing the Virgin with her child in her arms,

completed the rest of the moveables of the sitting room.

D'Elsac fastened his horse to a post, which opportunely stood near, and

walked into the cottage. No sound reached his ear, though around him lay

many articles, denoting that the family had not long been absent. He was

in the kitchen, but his step aroused no one to see who was the intruder,

and he again walked back to the door, but still there was no appearance

of any one near.

He looked down the village street, to see if any one was approaching, but

the village also appeared deserted, and he was beginning to get a little

uneasy, when he was roused by the playful voice of a child as it were

behind him. He turned in the direction of the voice, and saw that two

young girls were standing in the very middle of the apartment, having

come from some inner room.

They did not appear to notice D'Elsac, as he was without the cottage

door, and, as he listened unnoticed by them, he was aware that they were

too much interested with their own conversation to regard his presence.

He could not doubt for an instant but that these two fair girls before

him were his nieces, and the younger, a mere playful child, was no doubt

the little Mime or Mimi, as she was endearingly called, for the rare

talent she evinced in mimicking or laughing at the eccentricities of her

neighbours.

Mimi was a very lovely little girl in outward appearance, her hair and

eyes being of a most brilliant black, and she wore the dress of the

peasants of Normandy, a province which borders close on Picardy. D'Elsac

could not so easily distinguish her companion, though she was evidently

an elder sister, and she, too, wore the Norman costume. This dress

consisted of a full red striped petticoat, a jacket with short sleeves,

and an apron with pockets.

He saw, however, that she was not behind her younger sister in beauty,

and though speaking with earnestness to the child, when Dorsain first

beheld her, her manner was gentle, and her countenance calm and serene.

"My dearest Mimi," she said, "I want you to understand thoroughly, why I

refused to listen to Monsieur le Prieur, when he came to talk to me. He

wanted me to try with my own sisters Caliste and Lisette for the rose,

and supposing I had agreed to do so, what would have been the

consequences, my dear Mimi? I love them dearly now, and I believe they

love me; but were I to gain the rose from them, they would be vexed, and

if I lost it after trying for it, I should be disappointed, and very

likely I should be cross and jealous."

"You are never cross, Victorine," replied the child, "so that you

certainly have a better right than Caliste or Lisette to the rose, and

then, too, we shall have fine work here, if they are rivals for the rose,

and either of them has a chance of getting it."

"Alas! I fear," exclaimed Victorine, sorrowfully, "alas! I fear so,

Mimi, I could almost find it in my heart to hope that neither will be

chosen."

"But you forget," replied Mimi, "how we manage these things in Salency,

you have only been at one of our yearly fetes, whilst I have been to ten,

and five of those I can remember very well. Three girls are always

chosen, Victorine, by the villagers, not one only, and then the Seigneur

takes one from those three--that is the way, you know, and Monsieur Le

Prieur wanted you, and Caliste, and Lisette, to be the three chosen. He

said it would make the thing so interesting, if three out of one family

were striving for the rose."

"Can it be possible," said Victorine, all astonishment, "that anybody can

be so ignorant of human nature, as to set three sisters to strive against

each other, to rouse up envy and jealousy in their minds, to make them

grieve to hear that their own sister is looked upon favourably by their

neighbours and friends, because by that favourable notice they will he

rejected? Young as you are, Mimi, you can see that this fete of the rose

must be very wrong, by raising one girl above another, and causing envy,

hatred, and malice amongst the rivals for the rose."

"It is very wrong," exclaimed the child, after a moment's thought. "Yes,

Victorine, it is very wrong, I am sure, and a fine scene we shall have of

it here, which ever way it turns up. But I am for Caliste against

Lisette--I am for Caliste, and if Lisette gains it, I for one will not

let her set herself over us. I am for Caliste--I am for Caliste."

So shouting, the child darted from the cottage, paying no heed to

Victorine's entreaties to allow the matter to take its course, for enough

strife was likely to ensue, and nearly knocking down D'Elsac in her

eagerness, she ran down the village street, and the next minute was out

of sight. For a moment, or more, her uncle remained still at the door

reflecting upon what had passed between the sisters; then, anxious to

know what the worthy Salenciens were about, he stepped into the cottage

to learn particulars from his niece.

Victorine was seated beside a table, on which lay her needlework, yet

untouched; she had covered her face with her hands, and it was evident by

her manner she was feeling deeply. The step of D'Elsac roused her, and,

looking up, the tear was visible in her eye, she brushed it away hastily,

as she rose to receive her visitor, and offering him a chair, she begged

him to rest till her parents returned.

"You cannot know me, Victorine," he said, embracing her, "but I am your

uncle, D'Elsac, and I am come to Salency to see my sister and her family.

It is many years, my child, since we met, but tell me where are my sister

and her husband? Where are Caliste and Lisette? or whither has little

Mimi run in such haste?"

"Is it possible," enquired Victorine, "that you do not know the fete of

St. Medard is approaching, uncle Dorsain? It is well you asked _me_ the

cause why our village is deserted to all appearance to-day, had you asked

any other Salencien, I really do not know what they would have thought of

you."

Victorine spoke playfully, and D'Elsac feared not to acknowledge his

ignorance. "Remember," he said, "that I have only once before been at

Salency, and that was but for a day. Tell me then, dear niece, what it

is I ought to know before my sister returns."

Victorine smiled, as she answered, "Well, uncle, I will repeat to you, as

nearly as I can, the words of Monsieur Le Prieur when speaking on this

subject:--'Twelve centuries ago, the proprietor of Salency was named

Medard, whose good conduct was so renowned, that on his death he was

beatified. St. Medard was a native of Salency, and being a great admirer

of all that was good in others as well as in himself, he appointed a day

of festival, the 8th of June, being his own birthday, on which that young

girl, who was most remarkable for good conduct, modesty, and wisdom in

Salency, should receive from the judge of the district a rose or crown of

roses publicly presented to her in the chapel of St. Medard, and for the

following twelvemonth she was to be honoured by the title of the Rosiere

of Salency.' In little more than a week is our fete of the rose, and to-

day is the day in which the Salenciens meet before the officers of

justice to converse on the subject, and to choose three young girls from

whom the Seigneur de Salency must select the Rosiere. All the parents

and friends, and even the young girls themselves, are gone to hear this

discussion; and, unless it may be the sick or infirm, all our cottages

are deserted for the chamber of meeting."

"And you, Victorine," enquired Dorsain, "wherefore are you not there?"

She blushed, as she answered timidly, "Dear uncle, I am a heretic, or

what we term a protestant. I think such scenes encourage anything but

peace or family love."

"A heretic, a Protestant!" repeated D'Elsac. "How is that, Victorine?"

She blushed still more deeply, saying, in very low tones, "My aunt

Pauline, you know, married a native of Geneva, and went with him to dwell

in Geneva. My uncle Basil was a protestant, and my aunt became one also.

They had no family, uncle Dorsain, and my mother being very ill after my

birth, my aunt Pauline, who happened to be here, took me to her home, and

till I was fifteen, I never even saw my parents. My aunt is dead now,"

she added, the tears filling her eyes, "and my dear uncle Basil too, so I

have come back to live with my parents, and I am allowed to continue in

the faith in which I was reared, at least, till I am one and twenty, and

then Monsieur Le Prieur threatens to banish me from Salency, and my

family, unless I renounce the Protestant faith. I am now seventeen," she

added, "Caliste is two years older, Lisette is nearly a year younger, and

little Mimi is not eleven. I am allowed free intercourse with my family;

and though my bible is taken from me, yet I ought, and am very thankful,

for the indulgence shown to me."

"But why do you disapprove this fete, Victorine?" asked D'Elsac. "Does

it not encourage virtue?"

"Dearest uncle," she replied, "what is virtue? Are not we full of sin

and corrupt before God, and will not such a strife as this encourage

envy, hatred, and malice amongst us? Are we not driving peace from our

breasts and our firesides, uncle Dorsain, and can we expect to be holier

or better when she is banished from us? With peace goes love, and is not

'love thy neighbour as thyself,' the blessed Commandment given us by our

Lord?"

D'Elsac, however, did not agree on this point, and he told her so, while,

secretly, he congratulated himself on not having been too hasty in his

choice. "I might have taken this heretic home," he thought, "and so near

Geneva as we are, she would have all the encouragement one heretic ever

gives another. Let me be cautious, therefore, I will watch Caliste and

Lisette carefully, before I select one as a daughter."

Just when the good man had arrived at this conclusion, a sound of many

voices reached them, and the next minute Margoton Durocher, with her

daughters and neighbours, stopped at her door. There was an increase of

noise and bustle on the appearance of D'Elsac, and for some minutes

everybody spoke and nobody listened.

Dorsain was much struck with the change years had effected in his sister.

She was as lovely as any of her own daughters when they last met: now she

was become very stout, and her features were very coarse; but still her

dark eyes sparkled with pleasure, and her cheeks were glowing with

unusual bloom.

She saluted her brother on each side the face, inquired kindly after his

wife, and then without waiting for further particulars of the reason of

his visit, she called aloud for Caliste and Lisette to present them to

their uncle.

If Dorsain had been pleased with the quiet Victorine, he was enchanted

with the growing and still budding beauty of Lisette, who was certainly,

in outward appearance, the loveliest of the family; then Caliste, too,

with her long dark eyelashes, and her look of proud pensiveness, was very

charming. In short, the worthy man looked first on one fair girl and

then on another in high delight, and concluded by heartily embracing the

little Mimi playfully, scolding her for pushing by him so hastily, and

then, in the same breath, declaring that never before had any uncle four

such very charming nieces.

It was curious to see how differently the sisters took this

compliment--the proud Caliste's lip slightly curled in scorn at it, as a

mere kind commonplace; Lisette blushed, and took the praise as all her

own; Victorine smiled good-humouredly, and little Mimi archly took up her

uncle's words, and inquired "if he had come to Salency, to see which of

her sisters would look best as the Rosiere."

Dorsain, to his astonishment, was suddenly and loudly congratulated on

his probably near connection to the future Rosiere, and all with one

voice declared, "he would never be forgiven if he did not stay to the

fete of St. Medard."

Now Dorsain had already determined he would stay with his sister for some

days, but being, as I have before remarked, a thoughtful and slow

personage, he was so long in answering, that he found the good and

excited Salenciens had imagined his silence was a refusal, and all

together they mutually joined to persuade him to stay.

"Now, brother," said Margoton, "this is one of the proudest days of my

life, and I shall take it very hard to be thwarted in anything on this

day. Caliste, Lisette, my fair rival Rosieres, speak, urge your uncle to

stay to see our family triumphant."

"Monsieur D'Elsac, you must remain for the fete," exclaimed one of the

neighbours, "we could not let you leave us on any account; well may

Margoton call this the proudest day of her life, for no native of Salency

has been so fortunate, so favoured, as she is now, from the day the

sister of St. Medard was proclaimed Rosiere even to the present year."

Lisette then addressed Dorsain, taking his hand, and looking up into his

face, "Uncle," she said, "we wish you to remain, surely you will not vex

us by a refusal to-day?"

The speaking eyes of Caliste and Victorine seemed to request his

presence, and the little Mimi, hanging upon him playfully, held her

finger on his lips, that he should not thwart their wishes. What could

Dorsain do? He did not intend to go, but it happily struck him, that he

might answer them, as if their over persuasion had prevailed against his

past arrangements, and that, without their suspecting his intention, he

would have plenty of time given him to study the characters of the three

sisters. Moving the hand of Mimi, he inquired, "what had been the result

of the meeting that morning."

"Is it possible, it cannot have reached you?" exclaimed the mother,

proudly. "Why, Dorsain, never such a thing has been known at Salency in

the memory of man. My own two girls, Caliste and Lisette, have been

chosen, with Felicie Durand, and the Seigneur will make his election as

it pleases him. Two out of one family, Dorsain, only think, two sisters

from one family; ought I not to be proud of my girls? But, alas!" and

she sighed, casting a look of displeasure on Victorine, "alas! we have

all our troubles. Why should the elder and younger daughter be chosen,

and the second past over as a shame, rather than an honour, to an honest

family?"

Poor Victorine coloured highly, and turned her head away from the group.

Mimi sprang forwards, and seized her hand, exclaiming, "If the best girl

in the village was to be Rosiere, where should we find another equal to

you, Victorine? Now own it, mother," continued the indulged child, "own

that Victorine is the most obedient and complaisant of us four."

Madame Durocher patted Mimi on the head, and held out her other hand to

Victorine, as she kindly said, "Well, my dear girl, I cannot help being

somewhat vexed; you are a good girl, Victorine, a very good girl; and it

is quite excusable in a mother to regret that her child does not share in

the triumphs of virtue. I have no fault to find with you, Victorine,

none whatever, and as Mimi says you would have as good a chance as any to

be Rosiere; what a sad pity it is then, that you have such foolish

opinions on some few points!"

"Dearest mother," replied Victorine, respectfully kissing her hand, "I am

content, if you are satisfied, not to try for the rose."

"Well, well," exclaimed Margoton, "I am proud of my girls, and I think

Felicie Durand has but little chance against them."

"You are right there, neighbour Durocher," replied the same person who

had spoken before. "You have, indeed, reason to be proud. How lovely

will your charming Lisette, or Caliste either, look at the feet of

Monsieur le Prieur, in the chapel, with the crown of roses on her brow!"

Again Lisette blushed as she smiled her thanks, whilst the beautiful eyed

Caliste, displeased at the evident preference given by their neighbour to

her sister's beauty, turned abruptly towards her mother, and inquired,

"if they had not better arrange something for the comfort of Monsieur

D'Elsac. My uncle's horse is still at the door," she said, "and he has

himself not been asked to take food in our cottage. Victorine has,

indeed, mentioned it to you, mother; but her words, no doubt, fell

unheeded." The manner, perhaps, more than the words of Caliste, was an

intimation to the neighbours to depart, and as they left the cottage, the

woman to whom she more particularly addressed her looks, vented her

displeasure in words.

"How intolerably proud that girl is!" she said; "and, after all, her

sister Lisette is by far handsomer. I think Victorine, too, is very

pretty; and as to Mimi, there is no doubt she will soon be her superior

in beauty."

"I like Caliste much better than Lisette," replied the person to whom she

addressed herself, "for though she is so proud, yet the other is very

selfish. Caliste may speak rudely, but she will do you a kindness; as to

Lisette, she is wrapped up in selfishness and conceit."

Such were the comments made upon two of the chosen maidens of Salency;

and whoever will remember that the heart is full of evil, will no longer

wonder at the faults of these young girls. Both Caliste and Lisette kept

up an outward semblance of virtue, the one from pride, the other from the

desire of being flattered and admired; but as the motives which guided

their actions were not all powerful, the moment they were really tried

they failed in influencing their conduct.

When left alone, Margoton and Dorsain had much to say on family matters,

and the mother expatiated largely upon the late election. "Brother," she

said, "Caliste and Lisette have by this shown you how well the villagers

regard them. Mimi, too, is an universal favourite; but my poor

Victorine,--is a heretic, brother, a decided heretic. Never shall I

forget the day that our sister Pauline took the babe to her home; but I

thought I was dying then, and my husband thought so too, and what could

Valmont do with a young babe? Pauline was not a heretic then--she became

one about a year afterwards; but somehow or other we forgot to send for

Victorine, or we never had a good opportunity of fetching home the child.

Thus things went on, and never shall I forget our astonishment on our

first seeing our daughter, when the deaths of Pauline and her husband

caused her suddenly to be restored to us.

"Victorine was then fifteen, and mistress of twenty louis in gold; but on

account of her heresy, Monsieur le Prieur took it from her for the

benefit of the church, and to expend in masses for Pauline and Basil's

souls, but he allows us to keep Victorine with us, at least till she is

one and twenty, for he hopes a constant communion with Catholics will, in

the end, work her conversion. When she is one and twenty, she must

either renounce her heresy publicly in the chapel of St. Medard, or else

be banished from Salency."

Margoton then went on to speak of her other daughters, and, encouraged to

talk by Dorsain, she acknowledged that the proud spirit of Caliste made

her often tremble before it, whilst the excessive self-conceit of Lisette

prevented any reproof being of use to her. Mimi she mentioned with less

pain; her faults being still those of a child, had not yet brought with

them a sting to her mother's heart.

When Valmont returned from his own vineyard, whither he had gone that

morning, he inquired of his wife, "who had been elected amongst the

villagers to stand for Rosiere." Margoton told him with pride of their

two children being selected, with Felicie Durand, a girl well worthy, she

owned, to be chosen with her own daughters.

Durocher, with more coarseness than his wife, upbraided Victorine for not

striving for the rose with her sisters. "Were you but cured of your

folly, child," he said, "there is no doubt of your success as Rosiere,

for you are a great favourite, Victorine, notwithstanding your heresy."

Victorine could have asked, had she thought it right, if it might not be

this very heresy which made her beloved. She had been taught by her aunt

Pauline to seek after peace, and to pursue it, for such is well-pleasing

in the eyes of our God. And that person who strives not with his

neighbour, who is content with his own situation, and willing to give way

in what is right to others, will most probably, if he act consistently,

be beloved by his friends and neighbours. To her father's remark she

made no reply, but there was that in her heart which made her at rest.

She did not desire the crown of roses; she did not wish to be exalted

above her young friends. She knew wherein true happiness consists, and

she was fully aware that such distinction could not confer true

happiness.

What especially impressed this upon her mind was the perceiving a cloud

upon the brow of Caliste, and a flush on her cheek, which betokened

resentment or anger. When alone with this sister, she could not get her

to acknowledge what vexed her; but Lisette was not so backward with her

information.

"It is not my fault, you know, Victorine," she said, with an affected

air, "if I am considered superior to my elder sister. It is ridiculous

in Caliste to be angry about that. She ought to conquer her great pride,

and then she will be more agreeable and more beloved. She fears me for a

rival, Victorine. She is not jealous of Felicie Durand--indeed, I know

she would prefer her being elected before me; but I cannot help being a

younger sister, neither can I ungratefully quarrel about a preference our

neighbours may choose to give me over Caliste."

"Then you think," said Victorine, "you will be the chosen Rosiere."

"I have very little doubt of it," she answered, "for Caliste has shown

her pride to our neighbour, Madame Goton, and she is the marchande de

mode of Madame la Baronne de Salency."

"But I thought," said Victorine, "that the rose was to be given without

prejudice or partiality."

"So it is," replied Lisette, angrily, "and it is by failure of courtesy

and civility that Caliste will lose it."

Victorine sighed, for she saw clearly that a breach was made between her

two sisters that nothing but time could heal. The elder, in her pride,

shunned compassion, whilst the triumphant self-conceit of the younger was

a perpetual gall to her sister.

Thus was peace banished from the household of Durocher, and Valmont and

his wife were in a perpetual excitement, lest Felicie Durand should be

elected, and their own children passed over. Mimi was wholly for her

sister Caliste, in opposition to Lisette, whilst Caliste felt her cause a

failing one, and had the mortifying assurance she should have to yield

the triumph to a younger sister.

Victorine felt for all, and did not know what to desire, for whichever

way it turned out, it would bring sorrow to the family in one or other of

its members--and thus passed the first four days of Dorsain's visit at

Salency.

It was on the Sunday morning, being the first of June, that the election

was to be made, after Prone, in church. Prone is an exhortation or

lecture, read by the priest at mass, in which he announces the holy days

of the ensuing week.

Caliste, Lisette, and Felicie Durand, attired in white, walked together

to church, and sate side by side during the service, all eyes being fixed

upon them. Dorsain, with his sister and her husband, and Mimi, were also

there, but Victorine, who could not join in the service, remained at home

to pray for her sisters. Whilst thus left to solitude, she had time

given her not only gratefully to thank God for not being one in the

strife, but also to implore that the lesson might be beneficial to her

family.

From Mimi she learnt that Caliste had reason to believe that Lisette

would be preferred to herself, the beauty of her younger sister having

attracted the attention and admiration of Madame la Baronne, whose

husband was to proclaim the Rosiere.

Earnestly did she pray that the disappointment might be blest to Caliste,

and, after shedding some tears for this sister's sake, she prepared to

receive her in the manner that would be most agreeable to a proud and

disappointed mind. Being led to see that this trial might be, in the

end, a blessing to Caliste, Victorine became composed, and even happy,

for that peace of God, which passeth all understanding, was shed upon her

mind, and she knew that in life or death He was with her, her friend, her

guide, her consoler, in all trouble. To this divine Friend and Father

she intrusted her sister; and now, with peace in her mind, its holy calm

being visible on her brow, she awaited the return of her family from

mass.

But, oh, how different were the feelings of her relatives! Her parents

were trembling, lest Felicie should be chosen--Lisette was full of

triumphant consequence, and assumed an air of indifference--whilst

Caliste never raised her eyes from the ground, her long eyelashes resting

on a cheek, the brightness of which proclaimed the intensity of her

emotion.

The exhortation commenced, the subject for that day being on virtue and

wisdom, applicable to the future fete. Then came a pause, and Monsieur

le Prieur rising, all present rose together, to hear what was the

determination of the Seigneur of Salency.

The chosen maidens alone retained their seats. Caliste did not raise her

eyes; Lisette looked round for admiration; whilst Felicie seemed to feel

no more than the natural awkwardness of such a situation. Not a sound

could be heard in the church, so attentively did all listen to the

priest. At length he spoke, but the desired words fell not from his

lips; what he said was, however, greedily devoured. A few minutes more

he held forth, and then added these words. "The pure splendour of this

rose unique," he exclaimed, "is at once the price, the encouragement, and

the emblem of this our fairest Rosiere of Salency. What more can I say,"

he demanded, "but that, lovely as this flower appears, yet for once it

will be excelled by her to whom its beauty is devoted. Exquisite and

charming is virtue, devoid of the graces of youth and loveliness; but

when it is adorned with both, then it is irresistible. My friends and

children, can you doubt to whom this description is applicable? If so,

let doubt be banished from your minds, and receive with joy, in its

stead, Lisette Durocher, the chosen Rosiere of our noble and virtuous

Seigneur de Salency."

A burst of applause followed--the parents embraced their daughter,

shedding tears of joy, and the service being over, Madame la Baronne came

forward and saluted Lisette, whilst the neighbours crowded round to pour

forth their congratulations.

Felicie Durand had not expected to be elected; she had, therefore,

embraced her successful rival apparently unmoved, but not so her

companion. Proudly did Caliste stand aloof; one tear only she had shed,

and that had dried ere it fell from her cheek, but casting only one look

of indignant anger on those paying court to Lisette, she hastily left the

church, wholly unregarded by her parents, and by all save Mimi, who alone

amidst that crowd had thought of her.

With a hurried step and throbbing heart did Caliste hasten to her home,

forgetful that Victorine was there, and entering the cottage, hastened to

her chamber, throwing herself upon her knees, and giving way to the

passions that raged fearfully within her.

"And is it come to this!" she exclaimed. "Must I, the elder born, give

place to one, because that her cheek is fairer, and that the brightness

of her eye surpasses mine? Miserable Caliste! Unhappy, disgraced

creature! How can I bear, rejected as I am, for a mere child to appear

in Salency? How can my proud spirit bend, to treat with common courtesy

those who have passed me over for one so much more girlish than I am?"

Writhing in agony, she thus gave vent to her passion. But suddenly she

was roused by soothing words whispered in her ear, and looking up, she

beheld Victorine, whose soft eyes were full of tears for her.

"My sister," said Victorine, "my dearest sister, give not way thus

fearfully to regret. Mimi has sent me to you, Caliste. Mimi, who loves

you, with tears bade me follow you hither."

Victorine, as she spoke, embraced her sister, and earnestly implored her

to be calm.

"That can I never be," she answered, "whilst I am rejected, and Lisette

triumphs."

"But, remember that she is our sister," whispered Victorine; "that her

election is happiness to our parents. Dearest Caliste, wherefore be so

dispirited? we all love you dearly; let us not then grieve our parents by

not participating in their present cause of satisfaction."

"Victorine," replied her sister, "what cause have I to sooth my parents?

Have they forgotten that I, too, am their child, as well as Lisette? Yes,

they have forgotten it, Victorine; and in the moment when I most need

their comfort, they have passed over their unhappy child, to triumph with

her who is triumphant. No, I will not think of them," she added, "for

they have already forgotten me. But, what am I saying--they no more

regard me; in Lisette's glory they have lost all remembrance of Caliste's

downfall."

"Do not say so," replied Victorine, "how proud they were at your being

chosen, Caliste; they love you dearly, and even now I dare say they are

seeking you."

"Victorine, you speak not what you know to be true," replied the excited

girl. "Have not our father and mother continued to upbraid you from the

day we were chosen, even to this very morning, because your heresy has

prevented your trying to be Rosiere? Would that it were you that were

elected, Victorine! To you I could give up the rose with half the sorrow

I feel now."

"Ah! sister," she answered, "I thank God that I have not tried with you

and Lisette; your very words make me rejoice in my quiet situation. You

say you could have given up the Rose to me, but only consider, and you

will acknowledge that that feeling would have passed from your mind the

moment that I tried for it, with a chance of success, considering my

right equal to your own. Caliste, again and again must I thank my God

that I have not been in the struggle; and, oh! my beloved sister, what

would I give that you might be led to feel as I do, that happiness

consists in peace--that peace which the world cannot give nor cannot take

away; for it is not made up of perishable things which moth or rust can

corrupt, or thieves break through and steal!"

"Victorine," exclaimed Caliste, "I am no heretic; I cannot follow the

counsel you give; I must labour to gain praise, I must desire merit; and,

in ardently aspiring to gain this Rose, I but follow the wise injunctions

of a member of our church who has instituted this ceremony, which our

priests approve."

"But consider," replied Victorine, "what are the fruits of the Divine

Spirit as mentioned by the Apostle. Are they not all in opposition to

such a display as our fete of the Rose? All love is banished, Caliste,

at present from our house, and even our little Mimi is as excited as any

of us. When love departs, my sister, peace must follow; and only now

perceive the state of our hearts. In sympathy for you we must all

grieve; but sorry am I to own that even Mimi is roused to anger, and to

that jealousy which is the most mischievous of all feelings. If, then,

peace is fled from us, we must be in error, and following the counsel of

those who are not really disciples of our Lord."

Whilst Victorine spoke, Caliste listened, and even seemed soothed by her

words. "You may be right," she said, "in all you say, for of this I am

convinced, I should be much happier now if, like you, I had refused to

try for the Rose. As it is, I shall never think of this day without

pain, neither can I feel for Lisette the affection I once felt for her

before we were rivals to each other. From the first it has been a cause

of much sorrow to me, for, from the first, I was aware of the preference

given to Lisette; and from that moment I believe I have been in one

constant state of vexation or painful excitement."

At that moment Mimi came into the room to tell her sisters that their

parents were within sight; and, kissing Caliste warmly, the child

expressed her displeasure that she had not been the chosen Rosiere. "Next

to you, Victorine," she said, "I am sure Caliste deserved it, and I know

it was only given to Lisette because she is a favourite at the chateau

through Madame Goton, the marchande-du-mode."

Victorine tried to silence the child, and succeeded by proposing that

they should go down to meet their friends, and scarcely were they in time

to receive the party.

Caliste had shed no tears, but the eyes of Mimi were red and inflamed,

and slight traces of the same kind of sorrow were visible on the

countenance of Victorine. Mimi was not slow in explaining the cause of

her grief, for resolutely did she declare aloud, "that if Monsieur le

Baron only knew her sisters as well as she did, Victorine would be chosen

first, and Caliste next, before Lisette."

Sincerely did Victorine feel for her elder sister when the chosen Rosiere

entered the cottage. With an air of affected indifference Lisette

replied to the congratulations of the neighbours, and even professed to

think that the choice had been a partial one. "I could never fancy that

I should have to take precedence of an elder sister," she said, "and then

Felicie Durand is so charming a person that I assure you I felt it no

little compliment to be chosen in the trial with her and Caliste. As the

youngest of the three you know, I could not have expected to be Rosiere,

for I am only sixteen, and Caliste is nearly three years older."

Thus did she enumerate, with an assumed air of innocent unconsciousness,

every reason she could think of for her own non-election--not so much to

vex Caliste, as she most assuredly did, as to raise her own merits the

more above her competitors; for she knew not these words of Holy Writ:

"If we live in the Spirit let us also walk in the Spirit, and let us not

be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, and envying one

another;" "and favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman that

feareth the Lord shall be praised."

But to speak of Caliste. Whilst her sister thus called upon others to

compliment the idol of the day, she stood aloof, her speaking countenance

and flashing eye betokening her resentment. It was useless for Victorine

to try, by whispered words of affection, to soothe her; Caliste smiled

fearfully as she returned her answer in low words, "Never, never," she

said, "can the sting in my bosom be removed. Let the poison work,

Victorine, it is not your hand that has placed the venom there."

Sorrowing at her disappointment, Victorine would have led her from the

room, but she refused to accompany her. "No, I will stay," she said, "I

will hear every reason why I am rejected, and my younger sister exalted

over my head."

Mimi heard these words; and the excited child, irritated at the sister

whom she least loved gaining the crown, turned towards Lisette and

passionately addressed her--"Lisette!" she exclaimed, "I wish you would

now forget you are Rosiere, surely we have had enough about it. Let us

talk of something else, or, if you wish to go on, pray tell neighbour

Elise that Monsieur le Prieur himself said that Victorine would be the

chosen of all if she would attend mass with us; did he not, mother?"

inquired the child; "and did he not come here and talk for an hour to

Victorine, two months ago? and did he not promise her, if she would

attend mass, she should be the Rosiere this year, and that she should

publicly become a member of our congregation on the same day? So, after

all, Lisette," she added, "if Victorine had pleased, she would now be the

Rosiere."

"You do not know what you are saying, child!" exclaimed Lisette, for a

moment assuming the angry countenance of Caliste. "You have not got a

correct account of what happened, Mam'selle Mimi."

"Yes, but I have," she answered; "though I know you don't like to hear of

it, Lisette. Uncle Dorsain," she added, addressing him, "you might have

had all three of your nieces chosen by the Salenciens instead of Felicie

Durand."

Whilst Mimi had been speaking, Victorine had left the apartment to make

preparations for their dinner, or else she would probably have tried to

stop her little sister; as it was, the child, who feared no one else, and

who often felt much annoyed by Lisette's assumption of her rights, was

glad to mortify her. Lisette and Mimi had both been somewhat spoilt as

the two youngest, and the extraordinary beauty of Lisette made her still

a favourite and often a successful competitor over Mimi with their

parents. And now, this rivalship was manifested by the eager desire of

the child to repeat what she knew would vex her sister. "Uncle Dorsain,"

were her words, "ask my mother if she might not have had my three sisters

chosen together, instead of Felicie Durand."

"That she might!" exclaimed Durocher, proudly, but with an air of

vexation; "and had you, Mimi, been Victorine, that triumph would have

been obtained by our family. Most anxious is Monsieur le Prieur, brother

Dorsain, for the conversion of Victorine: it is astonishing what pains

the good father has taken with the girl; and it is only a few weeks ago

he came here to assure her he would secure the crown to her if she would

attend mass regularly. The girl obstinately refused the offer, and it

was in anger that he left us."

"And wherefore did she refuse?" inquired Dorsain.

"It was all obstinate folly," replied Valmont; "she declared herself

happy without it; and even went so far as to quote Scripture against the

fete of the Rose."

"What could she say?" demanded the quiet Dorsain, all astonishment.

"She said what is very true!" exclaimed Mimi; "she told us it would make

us unhappy and dissatisfied with each other, and the words she used from

Scripture, uncle Dorsain, were these: 'Follow peace with all men, and

holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord; lest any root of

bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled.'"

"And she called the fete of the Rosiere a root of bitterness!" exclaimed

Lisette. "Did you ever hear such nonsense, uncle?"

"I do not think it nonsense," said Mimi; "I think Victorine was very

right."

"You are too young to judge Mimi;" replied Lisette, "when you are as old

as Monsieur le Prieur, you will probably agree with a wise man in

preference to a young girl of seventeen."

Mimi, in warmth, took up Victorine's cause; and it was with some

difficulty their father silenced them; but the quiet D'Elsac was much

struck with what had passed, and his eyes were gradually opening to the

fact that Victorine was indeed right, and that the root of bitterness was

springing up in the family of his sister.

When once the idea was raised, he became much alarmed, considering the

purport of his visit. "Victorine, there is no doubt, is the most

sensible of her family," he thought, "but I could not think of having a

heretic in my house: then, Caliste looks so fiery, and Lisette is so

selfish, and Mimi is so passionate, that I dare not offer a home to any

of them. Well, I have not, at present, mentioned the purport of my

journey hither; and, if things continue as I fear they will, I shall

certainly travel back alone."

On the following morning Lisette, dressed in her holiday attire, went to

the chateau to pay her compliments to Madame la Baronne de Salency. The

young girl really looked uncommonly beautiful, and her mother, in pride,

having embraced her, watched her up the village street, expressing aloud

to her brother her satisfaction in being parent to such a child.

Dorsain felt that his sister's rose had many a thorn; he did not say so,

however, though the words trembled on his lips, and the thought would not

be banished from his mind; and, for the first time in his life, he

rejoiced that he was childless. But D'Elsac was in such a deep darkness

then, that, beholding faults in his nearest and dearest connexions, made

him look upon men with disgust; for he saw not, nor knew of that blood of

the Lamb, which, "though men's sins be as scarlet, yet shall it wash them

white as snow."

When Lisette returned she had much, very much, to say on the

condescending kindness of Madame, neither did she hesitate to add a

little to that lady's words.

"Monsieur le Baron will conduct me himself from our cottage," she said;

"for he has promised not to go to Paris till the ninth of June, on

purpose to be present at the fete of the Rose, which is to be held at his

chateau, and Madame asked me whom I had chosen for my companions for the

day, and she was pleased to express a wish that Victorine should be

amongst the number."

"But Victorine never goes to mass!" exclaimed Mimi, "and you know the

Rosiere always attends vespers."

"Well, that wont signify," replied Lisette, tossing her head, "for once

in a way Victorine may oblige a sister."

"Anything else I would willingly do, dear Lisette," replied Victorine,

"but my parents having permitted me to stay away from mass, I cannot

accompany you."

"But Madame has commanded your attendance!" exclaimed Lisette.

"She has no power to command me to do anything I think wrong," replied

Victorine, "and in this point I must not obey her; with my mother's

permission I will go up to the chateau, and excuse myself for opposing

her wishes."

"How unkind of you, Victorine!" said Lisette, bursting into a passion of

tears, "for I told Madame you would be sure to accompany me, and she said

it would improve the procession if my two sisters followed me and the

Baron."

Victorine appeared vexed, and, taking Lisette's hand, she said, "would

you wish me to do what I think wrong to give you an hour's amusement? I

cannot act against my conscience, dear sister. I cannot accompany you to

chapel."

Lisette flung her hand from her as she replied, "Do as you like,

Victorine, but it is hard that the very reason which makes me elected

Rosiere should cause such jealousy in my two elder sisters. I might have

hoped that Caliste and Victorine would rejoice in the honour done me."

Victorine appeared more and more grieved by this answer, but she said no

more; and, having obtained her mother's consent, she went to the chateau

to excuse herself to Madame la Baronne.

That lady received her kindly, and even approved her conduct, though she

did not agree in her opinions. She regretted her remaining an alien from

the Romish church, and promised her, if she would renounce her heresy,

she should be the elected Rosiere of the following year. But this offer

did not tempt Victorine; she could not behold the unhappy state of her

sisters without dreading to become their rival.

Madame then expressed her hope that Victorine would accompany her sister

to the fete at the chateau; and, with a complimentary message to her

mother, she dismissed the young girl.

And now came the important business of preparing dresses for the fete.

The Rosiere and her twelve female friends were all to be attired in

white, and all, with the exception of the Rosiere, were to wear blue

ribbon scarfs placed over one shoulder and tied under the other. They

were to have no coverings on their heads, for the fete was in the warm

month of June, but the Rosiere was to wear a crown of roses, made by her

twelve friends.

Now D'Elsac was an hourly witness of the patience of Victorine. She it

was who made her sister's dresses, for Lisette was in and out of the

cottage every instant to talk of the fete, whilst Caliste felt too

bitterly to set herself to work for an affair which she could not bear to

think about. Mimi was too young, and the mother too old to employ

themselves, and thus it was left to Victorine, who had never expected

aught of pleasure in the affair.

One morning Dorsain entered the cottage, and found Victorine working as

usual, whilst Caliste was seated near her, her employment cast from her,

and her whole appearance expressing the utmost dejection. At sight of

her uncle she roused herself, and for a short time her excessive mirth,

and even the great wit with which she spoke, astonished him. The quiet

man was somewhat startled by her manner, and he looked at her earnestly,

half alarmed by her wild and extravagant merriment. He soon remarked

that the smile seemed only to be on her lip, for every now and then her

countenance changed, and expressed the deep dejection he had noticed on

his entrance. He saw too that Victorine laughed not with her, and did

all that was in her power to check her exuberant gaiety. The steady look

that Dorsain gave her at once put to flight all assumed merriment; she

suddenly ceased speaking, sighed deeply, then throwing her working

materials farther from her, with a hasty movement, she left the

apartment.

Victorine's employment, too, fell from her hand; with the tear in her

eyes she looked after her sister, then, echoing her sigh, she set herself

with a sad heart to finish the work which must be done, and which

necessarily detained her from comforting Caliste.

"Your sister, Victorine, seems far from well," said Dorsain; "know you

what ails her?"

"Dear uncle," she replied, "Caliste will not now acknowledge even to me

what vexes her; but it is easy to see she feels most bitterly the losing

the Rosiere's crown."

D'Elsac for some minutes seemed lost in thought. "Poor girl!" he

murmured, "poor girl! I should not have thought it would have so

disappointed her."

"You forget, then, how she is situated," replied Victorine. "From

infancy has Caliste been taught to aspire to the rose, every year has she

ardently expected it; now this time her name is on the list, and her own

sister, younger by three years, steps forward and takes it from her. Our

parents, too, rejoice with the child that rejoices; they love one

daughter equally with the other; they are content that the Rosiere is in

their family, and they, perhaps, have not given it a thought that the

greater the triumph is to Lisette, the greater is the defeat to poor

Caliste. Then, alas! my sister has none to look to for comfort, and she

is overwhelmed with despair; she has been tried for worldly virtue and

goodness, and she has been rejected; and she is now writhing under the

shame, and unable and unwilling to turn to Him who says, 'Come unto me

all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take

my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and

ye shall find rest unto your souls.'"

D'Elsac had already been led to see that Victorine was right in refusing

to be a rival to her sister; he was therefore inclined to listen to what

she said, though he tried to make himself believe that, as she was a

heretic, he should not be led by her in anything; however, he went on

conversing with her about Caliste, and even about Lisette. Victorine

could not deny that Lisette in her selfish triumph spared no opportunity

of exalting herself at the expense of Caliste, neither could she excuse

this sister from the fault that Dorsain charged her, with cruelly

rejoicing in every pang of jealousy that the poor girl suffered. Though

Victorine could not excuse her conduct, yet she laid it to its right

source, the total ignorance of Lisette on religious subjects, who

considered an outward appearance of virtue sufficient in the eyes of a

just God, and that the guidance of the thoughts and evil passions of the

heart were only so far necessary as to obtain for herself the perishable

Rosiere's crown.

D'Elsac inquired if after the ceremony the Rosiere was peculiarly noticed

amongst the Salenciens.

"Monsieur de Montforlaine has given an annual rent of one hundred and

twenty livres to the Rosiere," replied Victorine, "and this gives the

office some consequence. Those too who have been Rosieres are always

treated with respect in Salency, even after their reign is over."

"Then Caliste will have to endure Lisette's superiority very long," said

Dorsain.

"Till the time she is herself Rosiere," she replied; "at least whilst she

remains in Salency."

Here a pause ensued, during which D'Elsac saw the tears roll fast down

the cheeks of Victorine, so as almost to prevent her continuing her

employment. He was a kind-hearted man, and grieved to see her tears.

"Victorine," he said, lowering his voice, "you have no idea what business

it was that brought me to Salency; your aunt D'Elsac is not so strong as

she was some years back; she wants an assistant, and she would prefer a

niece to a stranger."

"Then you will take Caliste!" she exclaimed; "you will take Caliste from

Salency, will you not, uncle Dorsain?"

The good man looked annoyed as he replied, "My dear Victorine I love

quiet; how could my wife and myself endure the haughty and proud airs of

Caliste? No, Victorine, it was not Caliste I desired to adopt as a

daughter."

Victorine could not but understand the kind old gentleman's words; she

kissed his hand in token of her gratitude, and then with many thanks she

tried with caution to make him comprehend her situation. "If it but

depended upon myself," she said, "oh, how happy would it make me to live

so near Swisserland; so near my oldest and dearest friends; so near my

first, my happiest home; so near my beloved aunt Pauline's grave; but no,

uncle Dorsain; no, I must not think of it; I have a duty to perform here.

I ought to comfort Caliste, and I only can, because she feels that the

Rosiere is a younger sister to me, as well as to herself."

D'Elsac could not be offended by such a refusal. "Victorine," he said,

"pray tell me upon what motive do you act?"

She smiled, though the tear still trembled on her eyelid, as she replied

playfully, "By the same motive, uncle Dorsain, which you acknowledged

just now. I too love peace. I love it dearly, but pardon me if I say

that the peace after which I pursue is not of so transient a nature as

yours. You seek but the peace of good nature and cheerful countenances.

My peace is the peace of the heart; the peace that a young child feels

upon its mother's knee. My Heavenly Father's arms I know are around me;

they will, I feel assured, never be withdrawn; and whilst I do what He

points out as right to be done, the peace and confidence of the loved

child no earthly power can take from my mind. Dear uncle, Dorsain, I

must not then accept your kind offer, for I must now give the comfort of

sympathy to my sorrowing Caliste; and if I left her now, peace would be

banished from my mind, for I should be acting against my conscience, and

that ever brings punishment in its rear."

"When I hear you speak, my dear niece," said Dorsain, "my conscience

gives me many a pang for my unbrotherly conduct to that dear sister

Pauline who performed the tender part of mother to you Victorine. Though

a few miles, comparatively a few miles, separated us when I heard that my

sister was a heretic, I at once determined to associate with her no more,

and now that I have the will, the power is no longer mine to visit her."

"Your estrangement was a great grief to my dear aunt," replied Victorine,

"and had not my uncle's very bad health disabled him, he or my aunt would

have forced upon you a visit; but he was too ill to leave home, and she

had no one to take her place with him or with me, and before I was old

enough to assist her he was no more, and circumstances were changed with

us. She did, however, to the last, often talk of you, hoping you would

meet, if not in this world, in the next."

More was said upon this subject, and it was not till some time afterwards

that the conversation was renewed, when D'Elsac said, "Then I must take

Lisette, I suppose, with me to Grenoble, for when you flatter her she is

good tempered, and I own I am afraid of Caliste."

"Lisette will not, I think, leave Salency whilst she is Rosiere," replied

her sister. "She could not make up her mind, I fear, to give up her

crown, thorny as it appears to others."

"I will ask her," replied D'Elsac, "but I acknowledge to you, Victorine,

I rather hope a refusal. If you will not return with me, I prefer the

hired labour of a stranger."

Dorsain then sought Lisette to learn her mind. He found her deep in

consultation about the only subject that now occupied her; and, as

Victorine expected, she refused at once the invitation, scarcely deigning

to clothe her answer in courteous terms.

"Well, I am heartily glad of it," thought her uncle. "She has no pity

for her sister's disappointment; she thinks of nothing but herself. What

peace could I have hoped for in my family with an inmate so fearfully

selfish?"

D'Elsac was thus, as it were, forced to think of Caliste; but it was with

such repugnance that he could not make up his mind to offer to her the

situation he had offered her sisters. He had never seen her brow

unclouded; never seen that beautiful lip divested of its scorn never

heard one expression from her that did not betray a mind full of

vexation, jealousy, and passion. To her, therefore, he would not address

himself, though he watched her with great anxiety, allowing the days to

pass till the 8th of June, the morning of the fete of St. Medard.

What a beautiful and lovely morning was that in Salency, and how eagerly

did the eyes of all the family of Durocher regard the weather, though

very different were their feelings on the subject! Lisette had been kept

awake by the thought of her approaching triumph; Caliste, too, had not

slept; but her pale countenance and hollow eye told a tale of sorrow and

dejection.

Scarcely was a word spoken at the morning's meal, save by Valmont, his

wife, and Lisette. Caliste refused to eat, but, urged by Victorine, she

drank some coffee, though she would not, or could not, taste any food.

D'Elsac regarded her with grief, for he feared he knew not what by her

manner.

The repast being over, and their parents gone, Lisette, annoyed at the

silence on the affairs of the day, introduced it herself, by demanding of

Victorine, "If she still refused to accompany her to the chapel."

"My parents, and Madame La Baronne, have accepted my apologies, Lisette,"

she said, "I wish that you too were content; I shall watch you to the

chapel doors, and even hope to be present at your fete this evening."

"I wish you would dispense with my company also!" exclaimed Caliste with

a bitter tone; "for, to confess the truth, my head throbs fearfully, so

that I can scarce endure the pain it gives me."

"What!" exclaimed Lisette, "do you too refuse to accompany me, Caliste;

alas! how unfortunate am I, possessing as I do three sisters, and yet

there is not one amongst them who rejoices in my triumph."

"Because you are so often cross and ill-tempered," replied Mimi; "and if

people will be cross, and will be ill-tempered, they cannot expect that

others will love them."

Lisette deigned not to notice these words of her young sister; but,

turning to Caliste, she inquired, "If she really was so very unamiable as

to determine to stay from her fete."

"If you felt the intolerable anguish in your head that I do in mine,"

replied Caliste, "you would think _me_ very unamiable to press you to

go."

"But I cannot, nor will not dispense with your company, Caliste," was her

answer; "unless Victorine will go in your stead. You can wear the same

dress; for how odd it would look if I had no sister with me!"

"Indeed," replied Caliste, with an air of nonchalance, "_I_ will not ask

Victorine to go in my stead, neither will I promise to go myself. Cannot

you take Mimi in my place?"

"Mimi," repeated Lisette; "why, she is at least a head shorter than

Felicie Durand; for, if she goes instead of you, Caliste, she must walk

with Felicie." "No," Caliste, "I will not have Mimi," she added, "and I

will appeal to my father to command you to go."

"In your selfish triumph, Lisette," exclaimed Caliste, with bitterness,

"you seem wholly to forget the feelings of your relatives! I tell you

again that my head is in that state, it will half kill me to go to the

fete."

She said no more, but walked out of the room, and up stairs, where

Victorine found her some time afterwards, extended on a bed in a restless

and feverish state, between sleeping and waking. But as Caliste left the

room, Victorine with much gentleness proposed that they should seek some

other young girl to fill the place of Caliste in the procession. "Indeed,

indeed, Lisette," she said, "our sister is far from well, and I fear the

excitement of the day will make her worse."

"It is only a jealous fit," replied the Rosiere; "only a jealous fit,

sister Victorine, and nothing shall induce me to give up her attendance."

"But if it is what you say it is," exclaimed Victorine, "dearest Lisette,

are you not irritating, instead of soothing your patient! My sister, vex

her no more; you have obtained the crown from her; is not that

sufficient? must you triumph over her also?"

"Pshaw," replied Lisette, sullenly, "I like to punish jealous people, it

does them good."

"But can you be happy?" said Victorine; "can you be at peace, when

another is suffering, I grieve to own, severely?"

"And why not?" she answered. "If Caliste could, she would have been

Rosiere, and would not then have cared for my feelings. I have no

necessity, then, to spare hers. You are sufficiently unkind, Victorine,

to remain at home, pray content yourself with doing so, without keeping

my other sister with you also."

Dorsain, who was present, ventured to put in a word in this place.

"Really Lisette," he said, "I would caution you not to urge Caliste too

much, she looks exceedingly ill."

"Monsieur D'Elsac," replied the Rosiere, "allow us young people, I

entreat, to settle this matter amongst ourselves. We shall fight it out

very amicably together, but when others interfere with us it only makes

matters worse."

The quiet man drew back, only venturing to say, "Well Mam'selle Lisette,

do as you propose; settle the matter, amongst yourselves, but let it be

quite among yourselves--let no fourth person be brought in."

"Well said, uncle Dorsain!" exclaimed Mimi; "well said, uncle Dorsain!

Mind, Lisette, you are not to ask our father to command Caliste to do as

_you_ please; mind that, Lisette--mind that."

"You are all against me, I see," replied Lisette, shedding tears for very

passion--"you are all against me; but I might have expected it. I might

have known others would be annoyed at any preference shown to me."

She left the room as she spoke, and in half an hour afterwards Caliste

was sent for by her father, who commanded her to accompany her sister to

the chapel.

"I will obey you, sir!" exclaimed Caliste, proudly, as she raised her

throbbing head, and gazed fixedly on her father. "Yes, I will obey you,

sir, whatever it may cost me!"

Dorsain was alarmed by the wild expression of her eye as she spoke, and

he even ventured to hint his fears to Valmont on her departure, but the

father laughed them to scorn, declaring it was, as Lisette said, mere

jealousy; and if she stayed away from the ceremony it would injure her

character fearfully in all Salency.

"She must learn to command herself," he added, "she is now nineteen; and

if she cannot command herself now, what will become of her?"

Thus ill or well was poor Caliste to be dragged through the ceremony; and

after an early dinner the family of Durocher retired to dress. Victorine,

who was soon ready, went to assist Caliste, whom she found seated by the

side of the bed, her head resting on the pillow. At sight of her sister

she rose, assumed an air of astonishment at her own idleness, and

hastened to arrange her hair. Victorine wished not to encourage this

frame of mind, she therefore offered to dress her sister's hair, and to

fasten her gown; and as she did so she could scarcely restrain her tears

for Caliste's disappointment. She longed to speak some kind word to

comfort or sooth her, but how could she do so, for pity suits not a proud

heart, and Victorine felt it was not a moment to say anything that

_might_ make her worse.

Victorine, however, making some excuse for leaving the room, urged

Margoton to permit Caliste to remain at home; but the mother, not alarmed

herself, saw nothing to fear, and, with her husband, agreed that she

would lose her character as an amiable girl, if she stayed away from

chapel. What, then, could Victorine do? she could but dress her sister

in silence, though in her heart she grieved most bitterly for her.

Victorine, on looking at her sparkling eye and blooming countenance, was

struck by an unnatural beauty that glowed there; and she made some remark

which escaped from her lips ere she was aware that in beauty the Rosiere

had forced upon herself a rival.

In reply, Caliste warmly embraced her sister, and, as if softened by the

action, her natural feelings found vent; and whilst her head still rested

on her sister's shoulder she exclaimed, "Dearest Victorine! what would I

not give if I had never been a rival to Lisette; what on earth can ever

repay me for my lost peace? Oh, you know not how I sigh for peace--peace

not for my body only, but for my mind. Too late have I found out that

you, indeed, my own Victorine, have learnt the secret of true

happiness--for you have found out the path of peace; and if I am spared

but another day, be you my instructor in that path, and then will you be

my guide to heaven."

Victorine could no longer restrain her tears.

"Weep not for me," said Caliste, soothingly, "weep not for me, dear

Victorine. Alas! if you but knew the feelings of my heart only a moment

back, you would loath me, and cast me from you. Ah! shall I ever know

peace again?"

The voice of Valmont was now heard calling for Caliste, and hastily did

she embrace Victorine, and descend the stairs. She looked round her on

entering the sitting room, but her eye rested not on any one object; but

there were all the family assembled, dressed in their best, the Rosiere

impatiently expecting her companions.

At sight of Caliste her brow clouded over; for she could not but be aware

that for this day, when least she had desired it, her sister's beauty

would outshine her own. Turning to Victorine, she pettishly asked her,

"Wherefore she had not attended to _her_ dress as well as to Caliste's?

Is there any fault in it?" she said, "for I suppose I shall be most

regarded; I pray you, Victorine, set it right, if any fault is visible."

In a short time the twelve young girls, the companions of the Rosiere,

were assembled in the cottage. They were all drest in white, with blue

ribbon scarfs tied under the left shoulder, the two ends floating at the

pleasure of the wearer. They were some of the best-looking maidens in

the village; but none could compete with the daughters of Durocher. An

equal number of youths wearing the Rosiere's livery of the blue ribbon

scarf now made their appearance, and with them came a band of music, and

soon the village street was filled by the inhabitants. The Rosiere

having spoken a few words to her own attendants, chose to retire till

sent for to head the procession; but Victorine remained with Caliste,

who, seating herself in a corner of the apartment, was watching all that

passed with a look of proud contempt.

Suddenly the band struck up in loud and joyous tones, the youths unfurled

their banners, the maidens drew together, and Lisette appeared from the

innermost apartment to receive the Seigneur de Salency. The next minute

he had entered the cottage, and advancing towards her, addressed her as

the Rosiere, and claimed his right of leading her to the church.

Lisette bowed as she listened to his compliments, then, ere she gave him

her hand, she approached her parents, and on her knee asked their

blessing, bending down her head to receive it.

"And now I claim the honour of leading off the fairest of Rosieres!"

exclaimed the Seigneur, raising her from her kneeling attitude, and

leading her by the hand to the cottage door.

Margoton shed tears of joy at the honour done her child, for the Seigneur

seldom claimed his right of leading the Rosiere to church; indeed he

spent most of his time in the capital, and seldom was present at the fete

of the Rose. The neighbours crowded round to compliment the parents; and

none thought of Caliste but Victorine and Dorsain.

As Lisette and the Seigneur reached the cottage door they paused for the

maidens and youths, whose business it was to attend the Rosiere; and

then, as Caliste rose from her seat to accompany her sister, her head

became so confused, that had not Victorine been near at hand, she would

have certainly fallen to the ground. Victorine would have pleaded her

cause to their mother, but Margoton was too much occupied with their

friends, and Caliste also, feeling that it was but a momentary affection,

declared she would proceed.

"Lean upon me, dear niece," said the kind hearted Dorsain, "my arm will

support you if you must make one in this procession."

This unexpected tenderness roused all that was amiable in the mind of

Caliste, and with the impetuosity of her nature which made her too often

show her contempt of her neighbours and acquaintances, she seized her

uncle's hand and pressed it to her lips. "Our Lady bless you!" she

murmured; "our Lady bless you for your kindness to me, but yet I must not

accept of it, for you must not mingle among the Rosiere's attendants."

Victorine, in alarm for her sister, and yet very unwilling to appear at

mass, applied to one of the young girls, imploring her whisperingly to

watch over Caliste, who she feared was seriously ill. Scarce had she

time for this before the procession commenced, the band and banners

preceding the Rosiere, who leant on the arm of the Seigneur de Salency,

then came the young girls dressed in white, with the blue scarfs tied

under their aims, amongst which the now excited Caliste walked with a

stateliness that could not but command attention; and lastly came the

youths, twelve in number, wearing the Rosiere's livery.

On did the musicians and procession pass between two rows of spectators,

down the village street, followed by Lisette in conscious triumph; once

only did she turn her head to see her train of attendants who came behind

her, but her eye resting on the almost unnatural beauty of Caliste, who

walked next to her, struck with envy at beholding it, all the

self-conceit of her own countenance passed away; and Dorsain, who had

remarked her glance, saw that even in this hour of triumph the Rosiere

was not content, for she felt she had a rival--a successful rival in

beauty.

As D'Elsac watched the speaking countenances of the two sisters, he could

have wept for very grief. Here were two girls whose beauty was

pre-eminent, highly gifted by Providence, and possessing in reality all

that could make life desirable; but, instead of being happy and content,

the love of admiration had rendered the one miserable till her bodily

health had suffered, and the other even in her success was envious of

that beauty which illness bestowed upon her rival. Then did his thoughts

wander to Victorine, and he turned towards the cottage, but she was not

in sight, and he could not but recollect how she had refused the offer of

the Rosiere's crown because she knew it would drive all love and peace

from her mind. Yes, you are right, Victorine, he thought; true, most

true, are your words; this distinction is indeed a root of bitterness,

and, unless you can point out a method of extraction, much I fear has its

influence taken an immovable hold upon the minds of your unhappy sisters.

The procession had now reached the church, and, Lisette being led to the

centre of the aisles, she was visible to all around. A Prie Dieu or

kneeling stool was then placed for her use, and the service of vespers

commenced, being led by Monsieur le Prieur, the same priest who

pronounced her the Rosiere. The maidens and the youths surrounded her,

but she was distinguished from amongst her young companions by being all

in white, for she wore no scarf, such being the wonted custom at Salency.

Whilst the service continued D'Elsac anxiously watched the countenance of

Caliste, and more than once he was half tempted to step forwards and lead

her from the church; every eager gaze, every look cast upon Lisette was a

source of jealousy to Caliste. She could not forget that as the elder

she ought to have been in her sister's stead; she could not either forget

that Victorine too had refused that crown which Lisette would soon

obtain, and which she herself so ardently desired, and as the service was

chaunted in a tongue she knew but imperfectly, she attended not to the

words, her whole thoughts being engrossed in comparing Lisette to

Victorine. Like Dorsain she was led to acknowledge the superiority of

the one sister's principles over the other. The one had refused to

strive with her lest she should make her miserable, the other had striven

and made her miserable.

Bitterly did Caliste rue this strife; but, through the blessing of God

upon the words of Victorine, this poor girl for the first time loathed

herself, and her own vile nature which made her envious of a sister's

prosperity. Caliste was alarmed at this insight she had obtained of her

own heart, and she was troubled so much within herself, that she rose

suddenly clasping her hands; and, had not those near her restrained her,

she would have fled from the church to seek her sister--that sister who

had told her with tears of the depravity of the human heart. "Oh,

Victorine!" she inwardly exclaimed, "what would I give to be like you; to

possess feelings like yours, which are at peace with God and man; for me,

wretch that I am, I am jealous of my own sister; and I tremble before a

God who knows my inmost thoughts."

Impatiently did she wait the concluding service, her countenance changing

every instant with the workings of her mind, whilst D'Elsac, as he

watched her, became in a short time almost as excited as herself.

But the service was concluded, and again the Seigneur took the hand of

the Rosiere to lead her from the church, and this time the priests headed

the procession. Whilst moving Caliste seemed more easy, she felt the

affair would soon be concluded; but though she could not urge on the

party, yet still in hopes of soon being at liberty to converse with her

beloved Victorine, she was certainly more composed. They had now reached

the chapel of St. Medard where the Rosiere was to be crowned, and

gradually did the procession enter the ready open doors. The Seigneur

led Lisette to the high altar, where Monsieur le Prieur was ready to

receive her. Here she was bid to kneel before the priest, and, for the

first time that day did the cheek of Lisette turn paler than heretofore.

She bent her beautiful head upon her bosom, whilst her suppliant attitude

and her extreme youth made D'Elsac for awhile forget her selfish conduct,

and to feel with Margoton there was cause to triumph in being so nearly

connected to that fair young creature. All the villagers stood round;

the Rosiere's crown, being then taken from the high altar, was presented

to Monsieur le Prieur by a priest.

The crown was formed of the loveliest roses that could be procured in

Salency; the flowers were wove together by a blue ribbon, the two ends of

which hung down gracefully, being bound together by a ring of silver.

This custom was instituted by Louis XIII. who, whilst staying at Varennes

in the neighbourhood of Salency, sent his captain of the guard to the

village to present the Rosiere with some blue ribbons, and a silver ring

to wear at her coronation.

Kneeling did Lisette wait to be crowned, whilst Monsieur le Prieur

standing over her held the crown in his hand above her head, first

blessing it, and then commencing a discourse on wisdom and virtue, which

lasted perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, during which the object of the

fete was never allowed an instant to be forgotten. He ceased, and was

just preparing to place the crown upon the head of Lisette; the first

note of the organ began to be heard, commencing the solemn Te Deum, when

a piercing shriek was heard through the chapel, the music ceased, the

roses dropt from the hand of the priest, and all looked earnestly for the

cause of the interruption.

The shriek had come from the lips of Caliste, and, it was evident, that

now she could no longer restrain emotions which had distracted her heart

for days and days. She approached her sister, her eyes frightfully

extended, her whole countenance glowing with excitement, and, laying her

hand on the crown, she exclaimed, "It is Victorine's! it is Victorine's!

Victorine is Rosiere! Victorine alone deserves to wear this crown." She

would have said more, her gestures and her features betraying the utmost

excitement, when suddenly her countenance changed, her eyes became fixed,

and, again uttering a piercing shriek, she fell backwards into the

extended arms of her uncle.

What a scene of confusion ensued, the ceremony still unfinished, whilst

the parents of Caliste rushed forwards to the unhappy girl, forgetting in

their alarm all thought of the Rosiere. The next instant Caliste was

borne from the chapel, whilst the villagers, most of them followed, many

eager to know the result, and many from real anxiety to assist the

sorrowing parents. Thus, in a moment, was the chapel almost deserted

save by the astonished and overpowered Dorsain, the neglected Rosiere,

the Seigneur, and the officiating priests.

"I thought it would come to this!" exclaimed the uncle after a painful

silence; "I thought it would. Caliste has not been herself for the last

week: poor girl, poor Caliste! the disappointment I am afraid will make

her seriously ill."

"Oh, it is but the heat of the day I trust uncle," replied the offended

and angry Rosiere, rising from her knees before the altar, and arranging

her crown which had been but awkwardly placed on her head. "I can assure

you I felt it very much myself just now. I have no doubt Caliste will be

well enough to dance at the fete this evening."

The kind-hearted man shook his head mournfully as he said, "My dear

niece, I am afraid you are deceiving yourself. I am afraid your poor

sister is seriously indisposed."

"Let us hope for the best," interposed the Seigneur de Salency kindly.

"Ay, uncle, let us hope for the best as Monsieur le Seigneur says,"

exclaimed Lisette. "I can't believe myself it is anything more than the

heat, judging by my own feelings."

At that moment Mimi ran into the chapel, her eyes red with weeping.

"Uncle Dorsain," she said, "my mother has sent me to you to beg you to

stay with Lisette till she can come to be with her. Caliste is very ill

I fear," added the affectionate child, "very, very ill. She does not

know any one but Victorine; she has called so often for Victorine, and

she will not loose her hand, but keeps her close to her side. Poor, poor

Caliste!" she continued with passion, "I hope that you are now content

Lisette, you have killed Caliste by your triumphing over her as you have

done."

Lisette was not in a humour to bear this affront, and she was about to

make a very angry retort on the child, when she perceived that the

villagers were once again entering the chapel to see the conclusion of

the ceremony, so turning to her uncle, she whispered, "You see they do

not want you at home, uncle Dorsain, so you may as well stay with me."

D'Elsac whispered to Mimi to run and tell her mother that he would remain

with Lisette; and the chapel being once again filled, Monsieur le Prieur,

laying his spread hands upon the Rosiere's crown, repeated a blessing,

and the organ again commenced a Te Deum.

The procession then left the chapel of St. Medard, and in a spot chosen

for the purpose was the Rosiere presented with a bouquet of flowers, an

arrow, and two balls, such being the custom for many generations, and

still carried on, though the reason for presenting these particular

offerings is completely forgotten in Salency.

It was now the hour of the fete, and though usually the Rosiere returns

to her home, yet Lisette would not do so, fearful lest she should be

detained there; so taking the unwilling arm of D'Elsac she accompanied

the villagers to the chateau where the fete was to be given. It was

during this walk that Lisette gave full vent to the bitter passions then

raging in her bosom. She abused Caliste, calling her selfish and

jealous; she blamed her parents for indulging her by remaining at home;

she called Victorine a hypocrite and unsisterly, and, as to little Mimi,

her displeasure against her knew no bounds. "Never was any Rosiere so

neglected by her own family as I have been," she said; "and even now at

my own fete, they choose to remain absent."

She shed tears of passion as she thus poured forth her selfish sorrow,

whilst her uncle made no reply, in silence listening to her words.

On arriving at the chateau the Rosiere was received with shouts of

applause; and, before one dance was concluded, Lisette to all appearance

had forgotten that she had a sister existing. Not so Dorsain; he sate

apart from the villagers, watching the thoughtless and unfeeling girl,

his affectionate heart picturing to himself the sorrow of his sister's

family. Surely the time _must_ come, he thought, when the eyes of

Lisette will be opened. Surely she cannot long remain in such total

ignorance of her own bad conduct. And this is the Rosiere, the chosen

maiden of the village! Oh, Salenciens, how ignorant must you be! how

dark must be your state when, judging only by outward seemings, you

crowned this girl for virtue! D'Elsac shed tears when he thought of

this, and when he remembered that Caliste was the one chosen next to her

sister, he wept still more bitterly for the state of the human race in

general. Alas! he inquired, where does virtue dwell? It has been

imagined to leave the crowded cities, and to reside in lowly cottages;

but here, as it were, are the hearts of two peasant girls laid open for

our inspection, and, oh! how black and sinful do they appear. D'Elsac

sorrowed as one without hope, for his religion taught him that without

merit no man can see the Lord; and still grieving he felt the hand of

some person upon his shoulder, and looking round he perceived it was

Margoton.

"Brother," she said, "our dear child is, I trust, better. I have left

Victorine to attend her, indeed she will not let Victorine go out of her

sight; but Valmont thought we had better make our appearance, if only for

an hour, at Lisette's fete. The Seigneur has shown much kindness and

condescension to Lisette, and it would not do for us to appear

inattentive for so much goodness, though I must own I shall not be easy

till I return to my poor child."

"Then if you must stay here," said Dorsain, "if you must do so much

violence to your feelings, I think you had better go nearer to those who

are dancing."

"Yes, I know I ought," she answered, "but I am ashamed for my children's

sake. Too, too many suspect the cause of my poor Caliste's illness. Oh,

Dorsain, how proud I was of my two daughters! how neglectful of

Victorine! and now my beautiful girls make me blush for them, and my

modest Victorine by her own unobtrusiveness has attracted, it is true,

but little admiration, yet nothing but respect and love can be attached

to her name."

"But Lisette," inquired Dorsain, with an air of astonishment, for though

he had heard words from her lips during their walk to the chateau that

made him ashamed for her, yet he believed they were known only to

himself. "What of Lisette, sister?"

"Look at her now!" exclaimed her mother. "Look at her, Dorsain. Would

you think by her countenance that at this moment the sister, who was her

chief companion in infancy, was lying on a sick bed, to which she has

been the innocent means of bringing her?"

Dorsain sighed deeply when his eye rested on Lisette, then dancing under

the trees, and laughing and conversing with her partner with all the

selfish frivolity of her nature; but just at that moment her father

approached her and whispered something in her ear, and even at that

distance her uncle could see by the light of the lamps near which she

stood, the expression of her countenance change to angry discontent. Her

mirth ceased however, evincing itself so openly, and on the first

opportunity she withdrew with her partner from the observation of her

father.

The mother repeated D'Elsac's sigh, and then left him, to show herself to

the dancers. Scarcely had she gone, before her brother, now at liberty

to leave, set off to the cottage to inquire after Caliste. The village

street was deserted, as it had been on the day D'Elsac first arrived

there; and, unnoticed by one individual, he reached his sister's cottage.

The door was half opened to let in the air, for it was a warm evening;

and, by the light of a lamp, he could perceive that Caliste was extended

upon the bed, which I have before mentioned as one of the chief articles

of furniture in the kitchen. Close beside her couch sat Victorine, still

wearing the white dress put on for the fete; and at her feet was Mimi,

whose head rested on her lap, and who was evidently in the sweet sleep of

childhood.

For a moment, or more, all was silent; and D'Elsac had leisure to remark

the softly serene countenance of Victorine, whose sweetly expressive face

was sometimes turned towards Mimi and then towards Caliste. It was

evident that Caliste slept not; for D'Elsac heard her moan, and he could

remark that, when the sound reached him, Victorine looked grieved, though

she spoke not, fearing to rouse the invalid. Suddenly, however, Caliste

addressed her, and though her uncle could not hear her words, yet her

manner was energetic, and like one still suffering from excitement.

Victorine tried to sooth her, bending over her, and arranging her

pillows; during which movement Mimi awoke, and inquired of Caliste "if

she felt herself better."

"Yes, my little Mimi, I am better," she said, "that is, my head does not

pain me as it did; yet, for all that, I am perhaps more miserable than

ever. Oh! what shall I do, Victorine, what will become of me? At this

moment I would gladly change place with the lowliest and most abject of

God's creatures."

"Dear Caliste," replied the astonished child, "how can you say so; you,

who are so beautiful, why even Lisette, the Rosiere, was jealous of your

beauty more than once this very day."

"Ah, it is that!" exclaimed Caliste, sitting up in her bed, and clasping

her hands together, "it is that very jealousy, Mimi, which I fear will

ruin my soul and my body. Oh, Mimi, guard against jealousy, strive

against envy as you would against a desire to murder your own mother."

The child seemed frightened by her sister's agitation, and clung closer

to Victorine; whilst Caliste continued--"Oh, if you knew the bitter

passions raging in my breast this day, if you knew how first I despised,

then hated, Lisette; how I should have rejoiced had her beauty been torn

from her, and how I should have triumphed in her agony! Oh, wretched,

wretched girl that I am, and she too, she spurred me on, she gloried in

my misery, she gloried in my downfall; and, for revenge, I would have

been glad to have seen her dead at my feet. Do not come near me,

Victorine," she added, "do not pity me, I do not deserve compassion. I

hate and loath myself; would I could show to Lisette my repentance, but

what will that avail me?--The sin is unwashed from my heart, my

conscience drives me to distraction, and there is no peace left for the

miserable, undone, Caliste."

"But nobody need know your thoughts, but Victorine and myself," urged

Mimi; "and we will not tell of you, sister."

"But God knows them," she replied in a hollow voice, that made D'Elsac

start back from the door. "He knows them and I know them, and surely I

shall be punished for them severely."

She ceased; and, hiding her face with her hands, she gave way to violent

emotion. Victorine allowed the first burst to pass away; and then,

putting her arm round her, she gently soothed her by kind words,

entreating her to listen to her. "Dearest Caliste," she said, "when I

told you the Rosiere's crown would bring sorrow to our home, you did not

believe me. Now that you have painfully learnt this lesson, my sister,

surely now you will believe me, when I say I can point out to you a path

to peace. Vile as our hearts are by nature, dear Caliste, yet did our

Lord God _bless_ the sons of Noah, even though he had just declared that

the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth. You have done

wrong, Caliste, you have sinned grievously; you have been in darkness and

in error, and you now feel shame and remorse. My sister, that shame is

not of the natural man, it is a gift from God, and He has said, 'When the

poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth

for thirst, I, the Lord, will hear them; I, the God of Israel, will not

forsake them. And the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the

effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance for ever. And my people

shall dwell in a peaceful habitation, and in sure dwellings, and in quiet

resting places.'"

"Ah, Victorine," she replied, "wherefore is it that you alone can sooth

me? wherefore is it, that in listening to you, I hope some day to be at

rest?"

"Because," answered Victorine, "the faith in which I have been reared is

one of love, of joy, of peace, of hope. I have been told that the God

who has made me, being infinite, must also be perfect in holiness and

power. He has promised perfect peace to those whose minds are staid on

him. On his word do I rely with full confidence, as the child does upon

a parent's. And as I have learnt, so would I teach you, dear Caliste,

that our God is love, and those that turn to Him he will in no wise cast

off."

"Would that I could think as you do!" exclaimed the poor girl; "would

that I were a heretic like you, Victorine, and that I might but be

permitted to read in that book you have studied from childhood!"

D'Elsac was now aware that the fete had broken up, and the villagers were

returning to their homes; and, unwilling to be found where he was, he

left the spot; and, taking a turn, he presently came back to the cottage.

He found all the family assembled in the kitchen, when he returned; and

he came in just in time to hear Valmont rebuke Lisette severely for her

conduct during the day.

She replied with passion and insolence to his displeasure; and the father

irritated, again reproved her, commanding her to be silent, and to go up

to her chamber. She obeyed him so far as to leave the apartment, taking

no heed of Caliste, but muttering out her discontent at the behaviour of

her relatives towards her, and she even proceeded to some kind of threat

which, for the time, was unnoticed.

Valmont next spoke with some bitterness to Caliste, and then left the

apartment in displeasure.

With some difficulty, D'Elsac supported, or rather carried, Caliste to

the chamber above; for her father's words had so grieved her that she was

immediately taken worse; and then, leaving her to her mother and

Victorine, he left the cottage, unable to sleep, thinking that a walk in

the quiet moonlight would do him good.

When he returned he found the door of the house still open and Mimi

asleep upon the bed. He watched by his little niece for a considerable

time till Victorine appeared, and said, "it was her intention to sit up

all night with Caliste," and then recommended him to go to bed. "I

cannot sleep," he said, "I shall sit by the fire to-night, and then I

shall be at hand if you want anything for poor Caliste." Victorine

thanked him for his kindness, and seeing that Mimi still slept on, she

would not rouse her, but went up again to her sister's chamber.

It was a long and weary night to many in that cottage; and when morning

dawned, Victorine was aware that her sister was much worse than she had

even feared. A medical man was sent for, who pronounced it a fever; and

in a short time the poor girl was completely unconscious of all passing

round her. In the excitement that ensued, no one thought of Lisette, and

the evening had nearly set in before Mimi suddenly declared that she had

not made her appearance that day. It was in vain Valmont and D'Elsac

inquired of the neighbours if they had seen her--they received the same

answer from all; and Mimi soon discovered that she had taken some clothes

away with her. And now, indeed, were the family of Durocher to be

pitied;--the eldest daughter in a state of delirium, and the third having

disappeared in such a manner that no traces of her could be found. It is

true they knew Lisette could not be in distress; for, amongst the gifts

made to her the day before, she had received the yearly income of the

Rosiere, which is one hundred and twenty livres; a sum of no little

importance to people living in the humble mode her parents did.

It was impossible, however, long to keep the affair a secret from

Margoton and Victorine: and the heart-broken father--for he really loved

his children--was forced to leave, what he imagined to be, the dying bed

of his unhappy Caliste, to seek after that unnatural sister who had

helped to bring her to that state.

What a household of sorrow was the kind D'Elsac left to superintend! and,

had it not been for Victorine, the poor man would have added another to

the causes of grief in that cottage. Now it was that Victorine's

character shone forth; she was the nurse of her sister, the consoler of

her mother and her uncle, and the gentle guide and director to the young

Mimi.

Tenderly did she watch over all, bringing peace to their minds from that

source from which peace alone can spring. Even in that time of trial was

the sweet conviction brought to the mind of this young girl, that it was

Divine Love that chastened them; and even then was she enabled to

perceive that our light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work for

us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.

Perhaps Margoton suffered more from the bad conduct of Lisette than from

the really dangerous state of Caliste; for Lisette had been a source of

greater pride to her, and now bitter was the change of pride to shame in

her bosom. To Lisette she had made her sisters give way; she had herself

submitted to many a whim which she would not have done from Caliste or

Victorine, and how had she returned that indulgence, but by cruelty and

ingratitude!

This time of mourning was through the goodness of God blest to Margoton

and her brother, and as Caliste began to get better, they would entreat

Victorine to talk to them of what she had learnt in Geneva, and relate

all she knew of her Aunt Pauline's motives for changing her faith.

Victorine loved the subject, and taught them what she could with joy and

gladness.

Caliste was at length declared out of danger, and immediately afterwards

Valmont returned with the news that Lisette had married a young man with

whom she had danced at the fete. Her answer was to be given that very

evening; for she had promised to meet him again when the rest of the

family were in bed. Irritated by her father's displeasure, and urged by

her companion, she left her home, whilst her mother and Victorine were

with Caliste, and whilst D'Elsac was gone out for a walk to calm his

mind.

Lisette had married a youth without principle; and already did he show

that her life with him would be far from a happy one. Her money, little

as it was, was an object to the young man; and he at once obtained

possession of it, taking her with him to Paris, where they were married,

and where the husband, irritated at her earnest entreaties to return to

Salency, began, as I have before remarked, to show already his brutal

nature. "It is of no use," he would say to her, "you have lost your

character in Salency; if there was the slightest chance of your getting

anything by going there, you should go tomorrow; as it is, if you go back

there, you may remain. I shall not take the trouble of sending for you

again to Paris."

The proud heart of Lisette was not yet humbled; for her beauty gained her

much notice in Paris, and she had not attempted to make any apology to

her father, or to beg his forgiveness, though it was known to her he had

followed her to the capital.

Such was the painful account Valmont brought of the fate of the most

beautiful maiden in all Salency; and the broken-hearted parents felt that

they had none to blame but themselves for her conduct. Valmont's heart

was softened, and he shed many tears when he again beheld Caliste; whilst

the afflicted family mourned together for the rash and misjudging

Lisette; though they all agreed that, as she did not desire pardon, it

was better for the present to leave her to herself.

On Valmont's return, D'Elsac prepared to leave Salency, for he had been

absent much longer than he had intended; but, before he went, he took an

opportunity of telling Margoton and her husband the real motive of his

journey, though he added he could not suppose they could now consent to

part with another child.

Margoton and Valmont had for some time felt how painful it was to meet

their neighbours, those very neighbours who had assisted in the triumph

of Lisette; and, as Caliste's conduct was not free from suspicion, they

replied to D'Elsac in a way he little expected, by proposing that they

should sell their little property in Salency, and all go to live near

Grenoble, where he might take first one and then the other of their

children, without choosing one in preference to her sisters. This plan

particularly suited his wishes; and as to Victorine, her happiness was

almost unbounded at returning so near her dear Switzerland, particularly

as her mother confessed to her before their departure, that it was in the

earnest desire of seeking after that heavenly peace which had been the

means of preserving Victorine through the trials that had nearly

destroyed her sister's earthly and eternal happiness.

It was on the 8th of August, just two months after the fete of the Rose,

that Margoton Durocher, her husband, and her three daughters, first

attended the Protestant chapel at Geneva. D'Elsac too was there, and the

merry hearted Mimi.

Thus was the peace of mind of Victorine blessed to many, and had she too

striven for the earthly roses, she would have added another pang to the

heart of her parents, and deprived herself, for a momentarily or hourly

gratification, of much lasting happiness.

G. Woodfall and Son, Printers, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.