Peter, who now rode up to the carriage with a face fall of joy and of importance, interrupted a course of sentiment which was become almost too interesting. Ah! my dear master! cried he, welcome home again. Here is the village, God bless it! It is worth a million such places as Paris. Thank St. Jaques, we are all come safe back again.
This effusion of honest Peter's joy was received and answered with the kindness it deserved. As they drew near the lake, music sounded over the water, and they presently saw a large party of the villagers assembled on a green spot that sloped to the very margin of the waves, and dancing in all their holiday finery. It was the evening of a festival. The elder peasants sat under the shade of the trees that crowned this little eminence, eating milk and fruits, and watching their sons and daughters frisk it away to the sprightly notes of the tabor and pipe, which was joined by the softer tones of a mandolin.
The scene was highly interesting; and what added to its picturesque beauty was a group of cattle that stood, some on the brink, some half in the water, and others reposing on the green bank, while several peasant girls, dressed in the neat simplicity of their country, were dispensing the milky feast. Peter now rode on first, and a crowd soon collected round him, who, learning that their beloved master was at hand, went forth to meet and welcome him. Their warm and honest expressions of joy diffused an exquisite satisfaction over the heart of the good La Luc, who met them with the kindness of a father, and could scarcely forbear shedding tears to this testimony of their attachment. When the younger part of the peasants heard the news of his arrival, the general joy was such, that, led by the tabor and pipe, they danced before his carriage to the chateau, where they again welcomed him and his family with the enlivening strains of music. At the gate of the chateau they were received by Madame La Luc,—and a happier party never met.
As the evening was uncommonly mild and beautiful, supper was spread in the garden. When the repast was over, Clara, whose heart was all glee, proposed a dance by moonlight. It will be delicious, said she; the moonbeams are already dancing on the waters. See what a stream of radiance they throw across the lake, and how they sparkle round that little promontory on the left. The freshness of the hour too invites to dancing.
They all agreed to the proposal.—And let the good people who have so heartily welcomed us home be called in too, said La Luc: they shall all partake our happiness: there is devotion in making others happy, and gratitude ought to make us devout. Peter, bring more wine, and set some tables under the trees. Peter flew; and while chairs and tables were placing, Clara ran for her favourite lute, the lute which had formerly afforded her such delight, and which Adeline had often touched with a melancholy expression. Clara's light hand now ran over the chords, and drew forth tones of tender sweetness, her voice accompanying the following:
AIR
Now at Moonlight's fairy hoar,
When faintly gleams each dewy steep,
And vale and mountain, lake and bower,
In solitary grandeur sleep;
When slowly sinks the evening breeze,
That lulls the mind in pensive care,
And Fancy loftier visions sees,
Bid music wake the silent air:
Bid the merry merry tabor sound,
And with the Fays of lawn or glade
In tripping circlet beat the ground
Under the high trees' trembling shade.
"Now at Moonlight's fairy hour"
Shall Music breathe her dulcet voice,
And o'er the waves, with magic power,
Call on Echo to rejoice!