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A short distance from Angelique, two ladies in long black robes, and evidently of rank, were kneeling with downcast faces, and hands clasped over their bosoms, in a devout attitude of prayer and supplication. Angelique's keen eye, which nothing escaped, needed not a second glance to recognize the unmistakable grace of Amelie de Repentigny and the nobility of the Lady de Tilly.
Amelie passionately loved her brother, and endeavored not without success, as is the way with women to blind herself to his faults. She saw him seldom, however, and in her solitary musings in the far-off Manor House of Tilly, she invested him with all the perfections he did and did not possess; and turned a deaf, almost an angry ear, to tales whispered in his disparagement.
He started and reddened as his sister's eyes rested on him. He looked through the open window like a wild animal ready to spring out of it and escape. A raging thirst was on him, which Amelie sought to assuage by draughts of water, milk, and tea a sisterly attention which he more than once acknowledged by kissing the loving fingers which waited upon him so tenderly.
A rush of garments caused Amelie and Heloise to turn around, and in an instant they were both clasped in the passionate embrace of the Lady de Tilly, who had arrived at the Convent. "My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have you done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"
Just as I had made up my mind that what had to be done could be done, die or no die, Amelie came running across the street to say: "Did you ever see such luck? Here is the old cart horse of Cousine Georges and the wagon!" Cousine Georges had fled, it seems, since we left, and her horse had been left at Esbly to fetch the schoolmistress and her husband. So we all climbed in.
My estate there was but a small one, and was forfeited thirty years ago; so unless I become a gaberlunzie and sit on the steps of St. Andrews asking for alms, I don't see how we should get porridge, to say nothing of anything else. No, Amelie, it seems to me that we must stop in France.
He reached Stanislas' house at nine o'clock, bowed silently to Amelie before a whole room full of people, and greeted others in turn with that simple smile of his, which under the present circumstances seemed profoundly ironical. There followed a great silence, like the pause before a storm.
The Bourgeois, learning their intentions, said he would accompany them, as he too owed a debt of courtesy to the noble lady and her niece Amelie, which he would discharge at the same time. The three gentlemen walked gravely on, in pleasant conversation.
"My dear fellow," said the Duc de Maufrigneuse one evening, to the new Comte de Brambourg, "I am sure that your addresses will be favorably received; but in order to marry Amelie de Soulanges, you must be free to do so. What have you done with your wife?" "My wife?" said Philippe, with a gesture, look, and accent which Frederick Lemaitre was inspired to use in one of his most terrible parts.
Her hand crept timidly up to his thick locks; she fondly brushed them aside from his broad forehead, which she pressed down to her lips and kissed. "Tell my aunt and Le Gardeur when we return home," continued she. "They love you, and will be glad nay, overjoyed, to know that I am to be your your " "My wife! -Amelie, thrice blessed words! Oh, say my wife!" "Yes, your wife, Pierre!
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