“And the wonder to me,” replied she, “is that your dear heart ever burdened itself with my happiness. I am weak in myself, and only strong in my resolution to be all a loving wife should be to you, my Pierre! You wonder how you gained my love? Shall I tell you? You never gained it; it was always yours, before you formed a thought to win it! You are now my betrothed, Pierre Philibert, soon to be my husband; I would not exchange my fortune to become the proudest queen that ever sat on the throne of France.”
Amélie was very happy to-day. The half-stolen delight of walking by the side of Pierre Philibert was enhanced by the hope that the fatal spell that bound Le Gardeur to the Palace had been broken, and he would yet return home, a new man.
Le Gardeur had only yesterday, in a moment of recollection of himself and of his sister, addressed a note to Amélie, asking pardon for his recent neglect of home, and promising to come and see them on St. Martin's day.
He had heard of her betrothal to Pierre. It was the gladdest news, he said, that had ever come to him in his life. He sent a brother's blessing upon them both, and claimed the privilege of giving away her hand to the noblest man in New France, Pierre Philibert.
Amélie showed the precious note to Pierre. It only needed that to complete their happiness for the day. The one cloud that had overshadowed their joy in their approaching nuptials was passing away, and Amélie was prouder in the anticipation that Le Gardeur, restored to himself, sober, and in his right mind, was to be present at her wedding and give her away, than if the whole Court of France, with thousands of admiring spectators, were to pay her royal honors.
They sauntered on towards a turn of the stream where a little pool lay embayed like a smooth mirror reflecting the grassy bank. Amélie sat down under a tree while Pierre crossed over the brook to gather on the opposite side some flowers which had caught her eye.
“Tell me which, Amélie!” exclaimed he, “for they are all yours; you are Flora's heiress, with right to enter into possession of her whole kingdom!”
“The water-lilies, Pierre, those, and those, and those; they are to deck the shrine of Notre Dame des Victoires. Aunt has a vow there, and to-morrow it must be paid; I too.”
He looked up at her with eyes of admiration. “A vow! Let me share in its payment, Amélie,” said he.
“You may, but you shall not ask me what it is. There now, do not wet yourself further! You have gathered more lilies than we can carry home.”