“It may be so, Rigaud,” replied the Count, sadly; “strange things take place under the régime of the strange women who now rule the Court. Nevertheless, while I am here my whole duty shall be done. In this matter justice shall be meted out with a firm and impartial hand, no matter who shall be incriminated!”
The Count de la Galissonière at once summoned a number of his most trusted and most sagacious councillors together—the Intendant was not one of those summoned—to consider what steps it behooved them to take to provide for the public safety and to ensure the ends of justice in this lamentable tragedy.
CHAPTER LI. EVIL NEWS RIDES POST.
The sunbeams never shone more golden through the casement of a lady's bower than on that same morning of St. Martin's through the window of the chamber of Amélie de Repentigny, as she sat in the midst of a group of young ladies holding earnest council over the dresses and adornments of herself and companions, who were to be her bridesmaids on her marriage with Pierre Philibert.
Amélie had risen from pleasant dreams. The tender flush of yesterday's walk on the banks of the Lairet lingered on her cheek all night long, like the rosy tint of a midsummer's sunset. The loving words of Pierre floated through her memory like a strain of divine music, with the sweet accompaniment of her own modest confessions of love, which she had so frankly expressed.
Amélie's chamber was vocal with gaiety and laughter; for with her to-day were the chosen friends and lifelong companions who had ever shared her love and confidence.
These were, Hortense Beauharnais, happy also in her recent betrothal to Jumonville de Villiers; Héloise de Lotbinière, so tenderly attached to Amélie, and whom of all her friends Amélie wanted most to call by the name of sister; Agathe, the fair daughter of La Corne St. Luc, so like her father in looks and spirit; and Amélie's cousin, Marguerite de Repentigny, the reflection of herself in feature and manners.
There was rich material in that chamber for the conversation of such a group of happy girls. The bridal trousseau was spread out before them, and upon chairs and couches lay dresses of marvellous fabric and beauty,—muslins and shawls of India and Cashmere, and the finest products of the looms of France and Holland. It was a trousseau fit for a queen, and an evidence at once of the wealth of the Lady de Tilly and of her unbounded love for her niece, Amélie. The gifts of Pierre were not mingled with the rest, nor as yet had they been shown to her bridesmaids,—Amélie kept them for a pretty surprise upon another day.
Upon the table stood a golden casket of Venetian workmanship, the carvings of which represented the marriage at Cana in Galilee. It was stored with priceless jewels which dazzled the sight and presented a constellation of starry gems, the like of which had never been seen in the New World. It was the gift of the Bourgeois Philibert, who gave this splendid token of his affection and utter contentment with Amélie as the bride of his son and heir.