De Pean's soul was too small to bear with equanimity the annihilation of his cherished hopes. As he looked down upon his white hands, his delicate feet, and irreproachable dress and manner, he seemed not to comprehend that a true woman like Amélie cares nothing for these things in comparison with a manly nature that seeks a woman for her own sake by love, and in love, and not by the accessories of wealth and position. For such a one she would go barefoot if need were, while golden slippers would not tempt her to walk with the other.
Amélie's beau-ideal of manhood was embodied in Pierre Philibert, and the greatest king in Christendom would have wooed in vain at her feet, much less an empty pretender like the Chevalier de Pean.
“I would not have treated any gentleman so rudely,” said Amélie in confidence to Héloise de Lotbinière when they had retired to the privacy of their bedchamber. “No woman is justified in showing scorn of any man's love, if it be honest and true; but the Chevalier de Pean is false to the heart's core, and his presumption woke such an aversion in my heart, that I fear my eyes showed less than ordinary politeness to his unexpected advances.”
“You were too gentle, not too harsh, Amélie,” replied Héloise, with her arm round her friend. “Had I been the object of his hateful addresses, I should have repaid him in his own false coin: I would have led him on to the brink of the precipice of a confession and an offer, and then I would have dropped him as one drops a stone into the deep pool of the Chaudière.”
“You were always more bold than I, Héloise; I could not do that for the world,” replied Amélie. “I would not willingly offend even the Chevalier de Pean. Moreover, I fear him, and I need not tell you why, darling. That man possesses a power over my dear brother that makes me tremble, and in my anxiety for Le Gardeur I may have lingered, as I did yesterday, too long in the parlor when in company with the Chevalier de Pean, who, mistaking my motive, may have supposed that I hated not his presence so much as I truly did!”
“Amélie, your fears are my own!” exclaimed Héloise, pressing Amélie to her side. “I must, I will tell you. O loved sister of mine,—let me call you so!—to you alone I dare acknowledge my hopeless love for Le Gardeur, and my deep and abiding interest in his welfare.”
“Nay, do not say hopeless, Héloise!” replied Amélie, kissing her fondly. “Le Gardeur is not insensible to your beauty and goodness. He is too like myself not to love you.”
“Alas, Amélie! I know it is all in vain. I have neither beauty nor other attractions in his eyes. He left me yesterday to converse with the Chevalier de Pean on the subject of Angélique des Meloises, and I saw, by the agitation of his manner, the flush upon his cheek, and the eagerness of his questioning, that he cared more for Angélique, notwithstanding her reported engagement with the Intendant, than he did for a thousand Héloises de Lotbinière!”
The poor girl, overpowered by the recollection, hid her face upon the shoulder of Amélie, and sobbed as if her very heart were breaking,—as in truth it was.
Amélie, so happy and secure in her own affection, comforted Héloise with her tears and caresses, but it was only by picturing in her imagination her own state, should she be so hapless as to lose the love of Pierre Philibert, that she could realize the depth of misery and abandonment which filled the bosom of her fair companion.