PIERRE PHILIBERT.
Colonel Philibert and Le Gardeur rode rapidly through the forest of Beaumanoir, pulling up occasionally in an eager and sympathetic exchange of questions and replies, as they recounted the events of their lives since their separation, or recalled their school-days and glorious holidays and rambles in the woods of Tilly--with frequent mention of their gentle, fair companion, Amelie de Repentigny, whose name on the lips of her brother sounded sweeter than the chime of the bells of Charlebourg to the ear of Pierre Philibert.
The bravest man in New France felt a tremor in his breast as he asked Le Gardeur a seemingly careless question--seemingly, for, in truth, it was vital in the last degree to his happiness, and he knew it. He expressed a fear that Amelie would have wholly forgotten him after so long an absence from New France.
His heart almost ceased beating as he waited the reply of Le Gardeur, which came impetuously: "Forgotten you, Pierre Philibert?
She would forget me as soon! But for you she would have had no brother to-day, and in her prayers she ever remembers both of us-- you by right of a sister's gratitude, me because I am unworthy of her saintly prayers and need them all the more! O Pierre Philibert, you do not know Amelie if you think she is one ever to forget a friend like you!"
The heart of Philibert gave a great leap for joy. Too happy for speech, he rode on a while in silence.
"Amelie will have changed much in appearance?" he asked, at last.
A thousand questions were crowding upon his lips.
"Changed? Oh, yes!" replied Le Gardeur, gaily. "I scarcely recognize my little bright-eyed sister in the tall, perfect young lady that has taken her place. But the loving heart, the pure mind, the gentle ways, and winning smiles are the same as ever. She is somewhat more still and thoughtful, perhaps--more strict in the observances of religion. You will remember, I used to call her in jest our St. Amelie: I might call her that in earnest now, Pierre, and she would be worthy of the name!"
"God bless you, Le Gardeur!" burst out Colonel Philibert,--his voice could not repress the emotion he felt,--"and God bless Amelie!
Think you she would care to see me to-day, Le Gardeur?" Philibert's thoughts flew far and fast, and his desire to know more of Amelie was a rack of suspense to him. She might, indeed, recollect the youth Pierre Philibert, thought he, as she did a sunbeam that gladdened long-past summers; but how could he expect her to regard him--the full-grown man--as the same? Nay, was he not nursing a fatal fancy in his breast that would sting him to death? for among the gay and gallant throng about the capital was it not more than possible that so lovely and amiable a woman had already been wooed, and given the priceless treasure of her love to another? It was, therefore, with no common feeling that Philibert said, "Think you she will care to see me to-day, Le Gardeur?"
"Care to see you, Pierre Philibert? What a question! She and Aunt de Tilly take every occasion to remind me of you, by way of example, to shame me of my faults--and they succeed, too! I could cut off my right hand this moment, Pierre, that it should never lift wine again to my lips--and to have been seen by you in such company! What must you think of me?"
"I think your regret could not surpass mine; but tell me how you have been drawn into these rapids and taken the wrong turn, Le Gardeur?"
Le Gardeur winced as he replied,--"Oh, I do not know. I found myself there before I thought. It was the wit, wine, and enchantments of Bigot, I suppose,--and the greatest temptation of all, a woman's smiles,--that led me to take the wrong turn, as you call it. There, you have my confession!--and I would put my sword through any man but you, Pierre, who dared ask me to give such an account of myself. I am ashamed of it all, Pierre Philibert!"
"Thanks, Le Gardeur, for your confidence. I hope you will outride this storm!" He held out his hand, nervous and sinewy as that of Mars. Le Gardeur seized it, and pressed it hard in his. "Don't you think it is still able to rescue a friend from peril?" added Philibert smiling.
Le Gardeur caught his meaning, and gave him a look of unutterable gratitude. "Besides this hand of mine, are there not the gentler hands of Amelie to intercede for you with your better self?" said Philibert.
"My dear sister!" interjected Le Gardeur. "I am a coward when I think of her, and I shame to come into her pure presence."
"Take courage, Le Gardeur! There is hope where there is shame of our faults. Be equally frank with your sister as with me, and she will win you, in spite of yourself, from the enchantments of Bigot, Cadet, and the still more potent smiles you speak of that led you to take the wrong turn in life."
"I doubt it is too late, Pierre! although I know that, were every other friend in the world to forsake me, Amelie would not! She would not even reproach me, except by excess of affection."
Philibert looked on his friend admiringly, at this panegyric of the woman he loved. Le Gardeur was in feature so like his sister that Philibert at the moment caught the very face of Amelie, as it were, looking at him through the face of her brother. "You will not resist her pleadings, Le Gardeur,"--Philibert thought it an impossible thing. "No guardian angel ever clung to the skirts of a sinner as Amelie will cling to you," said he; "therefore I have every hope of my dear friend Le Gardeur Repentigny."
The two riders emerged from the forest, and drew up for a minute in front of the hostelry of the Crown of France, to water their horses at the long trough before the door and inform Dame Bedard, who ran out to greet them, that Master Pothier was following with his ambling nag at a gentle pace, as befitted the gravity of his profession.
