The stream of city talk from the lips of the two ladies had the merit of being perfect of its kind--softly insinuating and sweetly censorious, superlative in eulogy and infallible in opinion. The good visitors most conscientiously discharged what they deemed a great moral and social duty by enlightening the Lady de Tilly on all the recent lapses and secrets of the capital. They slid over slippery topics like skaters on thin ice, filling their listener with anxiety lest they should break through. But Madame de Grandmaison and her companion were too well exercised in the gymnastics of gossip to overbalance themselves. Half Quebec was run over and run down in the course of an hour.

Lady de Tilly listened with growing impatience to their frivolities, but she knew society too well to quarrel with its follies when it was of no service to do so: she contented herself with hoping it was not so bad.

The Pope was not Catholic enough to suit some people, but, for her part, she had generally found people better than they were called.

A rather loud but well-bred exclamation of Madame de Grandmaison roused Amelie from her day-dream.

"Not going to the Intendant's ball at the Palace, my Lady de Tilly!

neither you nor Mademoiselle de Repentigny, whom we are so sorry not to have seen to-day? Why, it is to be the most magnificent affair ever got up in New France. All Quebec has rung with nothing else for a fortnight, and every milliner and modiste in the city has gone almost insane over the superlative costumes to be worn there."

"And it is to be the most select in its character," chimed in Madame Couillard; "all gentry and noblesse, not one of the bourgeois to be invited. That class, especially the female portion of them, give themselves such airs nowadays! As if their money made them company for people of quality! They must be kept down, I say, or--"

"And the Royal Intendant quite agrees with the general sentiment of the higher circles," responded Madame de Grandmaison. "He is for keeping down--"

"Noblesse! Noblesse!" The Lady de Tilly spoke with visible impatience.

"Who is this Royal Intendant who dares cast a slight upon the worthy, honest bourgeoisie of this city? Is he noble himself? Not that I would think worse of him were he not, but I have heard it disputed. He is the last one who should venture to scorn the bourgeoisie."

Madame de Grandmaison fanned herself in a very stately manner. "Oh, my Lady, you surely forget! The Chevalier Bigot is a distant relative of the Count de Marville, and the Chevalier de Grandmaison is a constant visitor at the Intendant's! But he would not have sat at his table an hour had he not known that he was connected with the nobility. The Count de Marville--"

"The Count de Marville!" interrupted the Lady de Tilly, whose politeness almost gave way. "Truly, a man is known by the company he keeps. No credit to any one to be connected with the Count de Marville."

Madame de Grandmaison felt rather subdued. She perceived that the Lady de Tilly was not favorably impressed towards the Intendant. But she tried again: "And then, my Lady, the Intendant is so powerful at Court.

He was a particular friend of Madame d'etioles before she was known at Court, and they say he managed her introduction to the King at the famous masked ball at the Hotel de Ville, when His Majesty threw his handkerchief at her, and she became first dame du palais and the Marquise de Pompadour. She has ever remained his firm friend, and in spite of all his enemies could do to prevent it His Majesty made him Intendant of New France."

"In spite of all the King's friends could do, you mean," replied the Lady de Tilly, in a tone the sound of which caught the ear of Amelie, and she knew her aunt was losing patience with her visitors. Lady de Tilly heard the name of the royal mistress with intense disgust, but her innate loyalty prevented her speaking disparagingly of the King.

"We will not discuss the Court," said she, "nor the friendships of this Intendant. I can only pray his future may make amends for his past.

I trust New France may not have as much reason as poor lost Acadia to lament the day of his coming to the Colonies."

The two lady visitors were not obtuse. They saw they had roused the susceptibilities--prejudices, they called them--of the Lady de Tilly.

They rose, and smothering their disappointment under well-bred phrases, took most polite leave of the dignified old lady, who was heartily glad to be rid of them.

"The disagreeable old thing--to talk so of the Intendant!" exclaimed Madame Couillard, spitefully, "when her own nephew, and heir in the Seigniory of Tilly, is the Intendant's firmest friend and closest companion."

"Yes, she forgot about her own house; people always forget to look at home when they pass judgment upon their neighbors," replied Madame de Grandmaison. "But I am mistaken if she will be able to impress Le Gardeur de Repentigny with her uncharitable and unfashionable opinions of the Intendant. I hope the ball will be the greatest social success ever seen in the city, just to vex her and her niece, who is as proud and particular as she is herself."

Amelie de Repentigny had dressed herself to-day in a robe of soft muslin of Deccan, the gift of a relative in Pondicherry. It enveloped her exquisite form, without concealing the grace and lissomeness of her movements. A broad blue ribbon round her waist, and in her dark hair a blue flower, were all her adornments, except a chain and cross of gold, which lay upon her bosom, the rich gift of her brother, and often kissed with a silent prayer for his welfare and happiness. More than once, under the influence of some indefinable impulse, she rose and went to the mirror, comparing her features now with a portrait of herself taken as a young girl in the garb of a shepherdess of Provence. Her father used to like that picture of her, and to please him she often wore her hair in the fashion of Provence. She did so to-day. Why? The subtile thought in many Protean shapes played before her fancy, but she would not try to catch it--no! rather shyly avoided its examination.

She was quite restless, and sat down again in the deep recess of the window, watching the Place d'Armes for the appearance of her brother.

She gave a sudden start at last, as a couple of officers galloped in to the square and rode towards the great gate of the Chateau; one of them she instantly recognized as her brother, the other, a tall martial figure in full uniform, upon a fiery gray, she did not recognize, but she knew in her heart it could be no other than Colonel Philibert.

Amelie felt a thrill, almost painful in its pleasure, agitating her bosom, as she sat watching the gateway they had entered. It was even a momentary relief to her that they had turned in there instead of riding directly to the house. It gave her time to collect her thoughts and summon all her fortitude for the coming interview. Her fingers wandered down to the rosary in the folds of her dress, and the golden bead, which had so often prompted her prayer for the happiness of Pierre Philibert, seemed to burn to the touch. Her cheek crimsoned, for a strange thought suddenly intruded--the boy Pierre Philibert, whose image and memory she had so long and innocently cherished, was now a man, a soldier, a councillor, trained in courts and camps! How unmaidenly she had acted, forgetting all this in her childish prayers until this moment! "I mean no harm," was all the defence she could think of. Nor had she time to think more of herself, for, after remaining ten minutes in the Chateau, just long enough to see the Governor and deliver the answer of the Intendant to his message, the gray charger emerged from the gate. His rider was accompanied by her brother and the well-known figure of her godfather, La Corne St. Luc, who rode up the hill and in a minute or two dismounted at the door of the mansion of the Lady de Tilly.

The fabled lynx, whose eye penetrates the very earth to discover hidden treasure, did not cast a keener and more inquisitive glance than that which Amelie, shrouded behind the thick curtains, directed from the window at the tall, manly figure and handsome countenance of him whom she knew to be Pierre Philibert. Let it not detract from her that she gave way to an irresistible impulse of womanly curiosity. The Queen of France would, under the same temptation, have done the same thing, and perhaps without feeling half the modest shame of it that Amelie did. A glance sufficed--but a glance that impressed upon her mind forever the ineffaceable and perfect image of Pierre Philibert the man, who came in place of Pierre Philibert the boy friend of Le Gardeur and of herself.

CHAPTER XI. THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

The voices of the gentlemen mingled with her aunt's in eager greetings.

She well knew which must be the voice of Colonel Philibert--the rest were all so familiar to her ear. Suddenly footsteps ran up the grand stair, clearing three at a time. She waited, trembling with anticipation. Le Gardeur rushed into the room with outstretched arms, embraced her, and kissed her in a transport of brotherly affection.

"Oh, Le Gardeur!" cried she, returning his kiss with fond affection, and looking in his face with tenderness and joy. "O my brother, how I have prayed and longed for your coming. Thank God! you are here at last. You are well, brother, are you not?" said she, looking up with a glance that seemed to betray some anxiety.

"Never better, Amelie," replied he, in a gayer tone than was quite natural to him, and shyly averting his eyes from her tender scrutiny.

"Never better. Why, if I had been in my grave, I should have risen up to welcome a friend whom I have met to-day after years of separation. Oh, Amelie, I have such news for you!"

"News for me, Le Gardeur! What can it be?" A blush stole over her countenance, and her bosom heaved, for she was very conscious of the nature of the news her brother was about to impart.

"Guess! you unsuspecting queen of shepherdesses," cried he, archly twisting a lock of her hair that hung over her shoulder. "Guess, you pretty gipsy, you!"

"Guess? How can I guess, Le Gardeur? Can there be any news left in the city of Quebec after an hour's visit from Madame de Grandmaison and Madame Couillard? I did not go down, but I know they inquired much after you, by the way!" Amelie, with a little touch of feminine perversity, shyly put off the grand burst of Le Gardeur's intelligence, knowing it was sure to come.

"Pshaw! who cares for those old scandal-mongers! But you can never guess my news, Amelie, so I may as well tell you." Le Gardeur fairly swelled with the announcement he was about to make.

"Have mercy then, brother, and tell me at once, for you do now set my curiosity on tiptoe." She was a true woman, and would not for anything have admitted her knowledge of the presence of Colonel Philibert in the house.

"Amelie," said he, taking her by both hands, as if to prevent her escape, "I was at Beaumanoir--you know the Intendant gave a grand hunting party," added he, noticing the quick glance she gave him; "and who do you think came to the Chateau and recognized me, or rather I recognized him? A stranger--and not such a stranger, either Amelie."

"Nay; go on, brother! Who could this mysterious stranger and no stranger have been?"

"Pierre Philibert, Amelie! Pierre--our Pierre, you know! You recollect him, sister!"

"Recollect Pierre Philibert? Why, how could I ever forget him while you are living? since to him we are all indebted for your life, brother!"

"I know that; are you not glad, as I am, at his return?" asked Le Gardeur, with a penetrating look.

She threw her arms round him involuntarily, for she was much agitated.

"Glad, brother? Yes, I am glad because you are glad."

"No more than that, Amelie? That is a small thing to be glad for."

"Oh, brother! I am glad for gladness's sake! We can never overpay the debt of gratitude we owe Pierre Philibert."

"O my sweet sister," replied he, kissing her, "I knew my news would please you. Come, we will go down and see him at once, for Pierre is in the house."

"But, Le Gardeur!" She blushed and hesitated. "Pierre Philibert I knew--I could speak to him; but I shall hardly dare recognize him in the stately soldier of to-day. Voila la difference!" added she, repeating the refrain of a song very popular both in New France and in Old at that period.

Le Gardeur did not comprehend her hesitation and tone. Said he,--"Pierre is wonderfully changed since he and I wore the green sash of the seminary. He is taller than I, wiser and better,--he was always that,--but in heart the same generous, noble Pierre Philibert he was when a boy. Voila la ressemblance!" added he, pulling her hair archly as he repeated the antistrophe of the same ditty.

Amelie gave her brother a fond look, but she did not reply, except by a tight pressure of the hand. The voices of the Chevalier La Corne and the Lady de Tilly and Colonel Philibert were again heard in animated conversation. "Come, brother, we will go now," said she; and quick in executing any resolution she had formed, she took the arm of her brother, swept with him down the broad stair, and entered the drawing-room.

Philibert rose to his feet in admiration of the vision of loveliness that suddenly beamed upon his eyes. It was the incarnation of all the shapes of grace and beauty that had passed through his fervid fancy during so many years of absence from his native land. Something there was of the features of the young girl who had ridden with flying locks, like a sprite, through the woods of Tilly. But comparing his recollection of that slight girl with the tall, lithe, perfect womanhood of the half-blushing girl before him, he hesitated, although intuitively aware that it could be no other than the idol of his heart, Amelie de Repentigny.

Le Gardeur solved the doubt in a moment by exclaiming, in a tone of exultation, "Pierre Philibert, I bring an old young friend to greet you--my sister!"

Philibert advanced, and Amelie raised her dark eyes with a momentary glance that drew into her heart the memory of his face forever. She held out her hand frankly and courteously. Philibert bent over it as reverently as he would over the hand of the Madonna.