The old priest hobbled to the front door and sat down on the threshold. “After all my care,” he said to himself, “to be foiled by a rolling stone!”

Through the open window he heard Miss Lois ask where Anne was. “Did she not come back with you, Rast?”

“Yes, but she was obliged to go directly to the kitchen.  Something about the tea, I believe.”

“Oh no; it was because she did not want to face us,” said Miss Lois, archly. “I will go and bring her, the dear child!”

Père Michaux smiled contemptuously in the twilight outside; but he seemed to have recovered   his equanimity   also.   “Something   about   the   tea!”   He   said   to   himself. “Something about the tea!”  He rose and hobbled into the sitting -room again with regained cheerfulness. Miss Lois was leading in Anne. “Here she is,” said the old maid. “I found her; hiding, of course, and trembling.”

Anne, smiling, turned down her cuffs, and began to light the lamp as usual. “I had to watch the broiling of the birds,” she said.  “You would not like to have them burned, would you?”

Père Michaux now looked thoroughly happy.  “By no means,” he replied, hobbling over   and   patting   her   on the   head—”by   no means, my   dear.”   Then he laughed contentedly, and sat down. The others might talk now; he was satisfied.

When the lamp was lighted, everybody   kissed Anne formally, and wished her happiness, Père Michaux going through the little rite with his finest Parisian courtesy. The boys added their caresses, and Gabriel said, “Of course now you won’t go away, Annet?”

“Yes, dear, I must go just the same,” said the sister.

“Certainly,” said Père Michaux.  “Erastus can not marry yet; he must go through college, and afterward establish himself in life.”

“They could be married next spring,” suggested Miss Lois: “we could help them at the beginning.”

“Young Pronando is less of a man than I suppose, if he allows any one save himself to take care of his wife,” said Père Michaux, sententiously.

“Of course I shall not,” said Rast, throwing back his handsome head with an air of pride.

“That is right; stand by your decision,” said the priest.  “And now let us have tea. Enough has happened for one day, I think, and Rast must go at dawn. He can write as many letters as he pleases, but in real life he has now to show us what metal he is made of; I do not doubt but that it will prove pure ore.”

Dr. Gaston sat silent; he drank his tea, and every now and then looked at Anne. She was cheerful and contented; her eyes rested upon Rast with confidence; she smiled when he spoke as if she liked to hear his voice; but of consciousness, embarrassment, hesitation, there was not a trace. The chaplain rubbed his forehead again and again, and pushed his wig so far back that it looked like a brown aureole. But if he was perplexed, Miss Lois was not; the happy old maid supplied all the consciousness, archness, and sentimental necessities of the occasion. She had kept them suppressed for years, and had a large store on hand. She radiated romance.

While they were taking tea, Tita entered, languid and indifferent as a city lady. No, she did not care for any tea, she said; and when the boys, all together, told her the great news, she merely smiled, fanned herself, and said she had long expected it.

Miss Lois looked up sharply, with the intention of contradicting this statement, but Tita gazed back at her so calmly that she gave it up.

After Père Michaux had left her in the hall, she had stolen to the back door of the sitting -room, laid her ear on the floor close to the crack under it, and overheard all. Then, trembling and silent, she crept up to her own room, bolted the door, and, throwing herself down upon the floor, rolled to and fro in a sort of frenzy. But she was a supple, light little creature, and made no sound. When her anger had spent itself, and she had risen to her feet, those below had no consciousness that the ceiling above them had been ironed all over on its upper side by the contact of a fierce little body, hot and palpitating wildly.

Père Michaux threw himself into that evening with all the powers he possessed fully alert; there were given so many hours to fill, and he filled them. The young lover Rast, the sentimental Miss Lois, the perplexed old chaplain, even the boys, all gave way to his influence, and listened or laughed at his will. Only Tita sat apart, silent and cold. Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock—it was certainly time to separate. But the boys, although sleepy and irritable, refused to go to bed, and fought with each other on the hearthrug. Midnight; the old priest’s flow of fancy and wit were still in full play, and the circle unbroken