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.”