"Now we will have a serious smoke," said George Bethune, with decision, as he took down his long clay pipe. "A cigarette after dinner is a mere frivolity. Maisrie, lass, bring over that box of cigars for Mr. Harris." But Mr. Harris firmly declined to smoke, even as he had declined to take any wine: what was he going to sacrifice next as a subtle tribute to the exalted character of this young creature? Maisrie Bethune seemed hardly to understand, and was a little surprised; but now she had to go away upstairs, to lay aside her things: so the two men were left alone, to chat about the affairs of the day until her return. When she came down again, her grandfather said— "Sing something, Maisrie." "You know I can’t sing, grandfather, but I never refuse you, for it is not of any use," said she, contentedly, as she took the violin out of its case. "But Mr. Harris has had enough of Scotch songs this evening. I must try something else. And perhaps you may have heard the air in Canada," she added, addressing the young man from out of the partial darkness. And now what was this new enchantment she was about to disclose and practise? In plain truth, she had very little voice; but he did not notice that; it was the curiously naive, and simple, and sincere expression of tone that thrilled through his heart, as she proceeded to recite rather than to sing the well-known "_C’ était une frégate,_" the violin aiding her with its low and plaintive notes: _C’ était une frégate_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose)_ _Dans la mer a touché_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._ And here again were those softly slurred _r_’s—not sharply trilled, as in the English fashion—but gentle and half-concealed, as it were. The simple story proceeded— _Y avait une demoiselle_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose)_ _Su’ l’ bord d’ la mer pleurait,_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._ _—Dites-moi donc, la belle,_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose)_ _Qu’ a’ vous à tant pleurer?_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._ _—Je pleur; mon anneau d’ or,_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose)_ _Dans la mer est tombé,_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._ Then he asks the weeping damsel what she would give to any one who would find for her her ring of gold that has fallen into the sea. _—Je suis trop pauvre fille,_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose),_ _Je ne puis rien donner,_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._ _Qu’ mon coeur en mariage_ _(Mon joli coeur de rose)_ _Pour mon anneau doré_ _(Joli coeur d’ un rosier)._