laughed, chatted, clapped their hands, jumped, danced, and made such a
bustle, that Widow Gostillon, in some consternation, cried out from her
chamber to know what was the matter. And the poor widow wept, too, when
she discovered what was going on--wept solemnly in thinking over Julia's
fidelity to herself, her industry, cleverness, self-denial, sweetness,
and, as a proud mother might, of her beauty. And presently the
neighbours brought forth the poor invalid in her chair, and placed her
on a pleasant spot beneath the trees, whence she might behold the
installation. Then Julia retired with those appointed to be her
attendants--her tiring-women, the ladies of her court; and when, some
time after, she came forth, blushing and trembling, and with happy tears
upon her face, wearing her simple holiday dress of white muslin,
ornamented, in charming style, with wreaths of roses, the cries of 'Vive
la rosière!' might have been heard a long way off.

A little while, and sounds of music and of many voices filled the Grande
Allée. The long rows of booths and marquées, dancing-rooms, gymnasiums,
toy-tables, _bonbon_ tables, fruit-stalls, &c. &c. were surrounded by
busy crowds: all was activity and cheerfulness. In a large open space in
the midst, a short distance from the front of the château, the flowery
throne, gorgeous in variety and vividness of colours, was set up on a
dais on the greensward. The band of celebrants, with Julia and her train
in their midst, advanced. Little Cecilia walked by her sister's side,
hand in hand, in proud surprise. Before them, an aged peasant marched
solemnly, bareheaded save for his silver hair, carrying the crown
destined for Julia; and with him, also bareheaded, the curé. A
benediction, accompanied by a prayer that the metaphorical ceremony
might have some influence in attracting the youthful people present to
the practice and pursuit of virtue, having been uttered by the priest,
Julia was handed to the throne, and the crown of roses was placed upon