The next thing that happened was that Tessie and Ange were taken into their father’s confidence, and were evidently much gratified by what he told them. Tessie, who was always cheerful but seldom merry, went about the house singing like a bird, whilst she helped Madame Marmoret to starch and iron muslin curtains and draperies; and Ange, whose happy face I had never yet seen clouded, seemed bursting with the weight of some pleasant secret which she had the greatest difficulty in preventing her lips from disclosing. A dozen times a day she threw her arms around me, exclaiming: ‘Oh, Hilda! I _am_ so happy!’ But when I asked her why, her rosy mouth was resolutely closed, and she said I should know it all soon, and I must be patient and wait. So I was patient, concluding that Mr. Lovett had received some good news of a private nature, in which none but his daughters had any right to share. A remark or two dropped by Tessie, relative to a change and a stroke of good-fortune, confirmed me in this opinion. I thought that his visit to Rille might have led to an interview with some clerical grandee, and the result was, the prospect of leaving St. Pucelle for a living of greater value. I could not tell why, but as I dwelt on this idea, it gave me pain. I had already learned to love the quaint little town and its surroundings, and the thought of new scenes and faces disquieted me. Meanwhile, the silver earrings arrived. Mrs. Carolus had executed my commission with more taste than I had given her credit for, and the massive Normandy work of which they were composed was the handsomest thing of its kind I had ever seen. My only trouble was that I had not yet received the money wherewith to pay for them. Mr. Lovett had been so exceedingly kind and generous in his offer to me on the occasion of my speaking of my allowance, that I did not like to worry him on the subject again so soon, especially as his mind seemed full of more important matters. Besides, he would be likely to inquire for what I required the money, and find fault with me for spending too much upon his little maid. The only resource left to me, therefore, was to tell the truth to Mrs. Carolus and ask her for a few days’ grace, which I did by letter, as St. Pucelle was visited by a succession of showers about that time, and we were almost kept prisoners to the house. At last Ange’s birthday—her _jour de fête_ as she called it—arrived, and the little maid completed her eighteenth year. I was waked early in the morning by a commotion of voices chattering in the Wallon _patois_ beneath my window, and getting up to see what was the matter, my eyes encountered a score or two of grinning faces upturned to mine, the owners of which held large bouquets of flowers in their hands. But the disappointment visible as soon as I appeared proved it was not me for whom they had assembled.