"No, let me not see her alone; let me see her in the midst of you all, that I may convince you that the heart never is mistaken in its instincts." With a fearful, a sinking presentiment, Lucille yielded to the request, to which the impetuous St.Amand would hear indeed no denial.

The father, the mother, Julie, Lucille, Julie's younger sisters, assembled in the little parlour; the door opened, and St.Amand stood hesitating on the threshold.

One look around sufficed to him; his face brightened, he uttered a cry of joy.

"Lucille! Lucille!" he exclaimed, "it is you, I know it, _you_ only!" He sprang forward _and fell at the feet of Julie_! Flushed, elated, triumphant, Julie bent upon him her sparkling eyes; _she_ did not undeceive him.
"You are wrong, you mistake," said Madame le Tisseur, in confusion; "that is her cousin Julie,--this is your Lucille." St.Amand rose, turned, saw Lucille, and at that moment she wished herself in her grave.

Surprise, mortification, disappointment, almost dismay, were depicted in his gaze.