The young lady had become much attached to Marguerite, and on being sent to a convent in the principal town of the department for her education, as was usual, had obtained permission that Marguerite might attend her still; so that the young peasant had enjoyed all the advantages of mental culture granted to the high-born damsel; had profited by them to the utmost; and had parted from her orphaned mistress only when, after the death of her parents, she was removed with her brother, the present marquis, to the guardianship of their next relative, the prince of Auvergne. In the meantime, while the marquis and his sister had breathed the atmosphere of courts and large cities, far away from their native province, Marguerite had returned to the humble home of her parents which she had filled with happiness by the light of her loving eyes, and the harmonies of her soft, low voice; had expanded from the bud into the full-blown flower, admired and beloved of all; had burst from the frail and graceful girl into the exquisite and complete woman; and, having long been loved of Maurice Champrèst, and bestowed upon him all the tenderness and truth of her maiden affections, was now about to surrender her hand also to him unto whom she had been during the whole of the last year affianced. And now, with pipe and tabor, with the old, time-honored bridal-chorus, with flowers scattered along the way, and garlands swinging from the hedgerows by which she was to pass, and decorating the rude pillars and stern arches of the old Gothic church in which she was to wed, with all the village in her train, carolling and rejoicing at so suitable, so sweet a bridal, Marguerite, the bride of May, was led to the ceremony that should of the twain make one for ever and for ever, of which the word of God himself declared that whom he hath united no man shall put asunder. Merrily, with louder strains and blither minstrelsey, they wound up the little dell among the oaks, paused for a moment at the rustic fount to cross their brows with its holy waters, and entered the low portals of the village-chapel. The bells ceased tinkling; the brief ceremony was performed by the old priest who had baptized them both; the hand of the down-eyed, blushing bride, still sparkling and smiling amid her happy, soft confusion, was placed in the ardent grasp of Maurice, and she was now her own no longer, but a wedded wife. She was wept over, blessed, caressed, and kissed, by half the company, and many a fervent prayer was breathed for the happiness, the complete and perfect bliss of Marguerite, the bride of May--alas for human hopes and the vain prayers of mortals!--and then, while the bells struck up a livelier, louder chiming, and the bride-maidens trolled the chorus forth more cheerily-- “The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home, Should blossom, should bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!”--