helpless parent and little sister, when, in accordance with this custom,
the good folks of the hamlet determined to shew their appreciation of
her estimable qualities at the next fête, by crowning her with roses,
and enthroning her with the usual ceremony in the Grande Allée. In the
meantime, Victor Colonne, son of the steward of the château, happened to
pay a visit to the poor widow's cottage; and thereafter he came again,
and again, and again, courting Julia Gostillon.

But Victor and Julia were not made for each other. He was thriftless,
idle, dissolute--the small _roué_ of the neighbourhood: she was careful,
industrious, virtuous. He was good-looking--of a dark, saturnine beauty,
insidiously impressive, like the dangerous charms of a tempter; she was
radiant and lustrous with the sweet graces of modesty, innocence, and
intelligence. Julia, however, young and susceptible, was for a time
pleased with his attentions. Persuasive powers of considerable potency,
and personal attractions of no mean sort, were not exerted and
prostrated at her feet entirely in vain. Ingenuous, trustful, and
inexperienced, she listened to the charmer with a yielding and delighted
ear, and was happy as long as she perceived nothing but sincerity and
love. It was but for a time, however. The Widow Gostillon liked not her
daughter's lover. Of more mature perception, of sharper skill in reading
character than her child, she conceived a deep distrust of the airy
smile and studied gallantry of Victor Colonne. She took counsel with
matrons old and circumspect as herself; made herself acquainted with
Victor's history; watched his looks, listened to his words narrowly and
scrutinisingly; and, day by day, felt more and more strongly that she
liked him not--that there was mischief in his restless eye and soft
musical voice. She communicated her fears to Julia, told her the history
of her suitor, and bade her be on her guard. Julia was startled and
distressed. These suspicions checked the brightness and little glory of