At that moment Mimi ran into the chapel, her eyes red with weeping. "Uncle Dorsain," she said, "my mother has sent me to you to beg you to stay with Lisette till she can come to be with her. Caliste is very ill I fear," added the affectionate child, "very, very ill. She does not know any one but Victorine; she has called so often for Victorine, and she will not loose her hand, but keeps her close to her side. Poor, poor Caliste!" she continued with passion, "I hope that you are now content Lisette, you have killed Caliste by your triumphing over her as you have done." Lisette was not in a humour to bear this affront, and she was about to make a very angry retort on the child, when she perceived that the villagers were once again entering the chapel to see the conclusion of the ceremony, so turning to her uncle, she whispered, "You see they do not want you at home, uncle Dorsain, so you may as well stay with me." D'Elsac whispered to Mimi to run and tell her mother that he would remain with Lisette; and the chapel being once again filled, Monsieur le Prieur, laying his spread hands upon the Rosiere's crown, repeated a blessing, and the organ again commenced a Te Deum. The procession then left the chapel of St. Medard, and in a spot chosen for the purpose was the Rosiere presented with a bouquet of flowers, an arrow, and two balls, such being the custom for many generations, and still carried on, though the reason for presenting these particular offerings is completely forgotten in Salency. It was now the hour of the fete, and though usually the Rosiere returns to her home, yet Lisette would not do so, fearful lest she should be detained there; so taking the unwilling arm of D'Elsac she accompanied the villagers to the chateau where the fete was to be given. It was during this walk that Lisette gave full vent to the bitter passions then raging in her bosom. She abused Caliste, calling her selfish and jealous; she blamed her parents for indulging her by remaining at home; she called Victorine a hypocrite and unsisterly, and, as to little Mimi, her displeasure against her knew no bounds. "Never was any Rosiere so neglected by her own family as I have been," she said; "and even now at my own fete, they choose to remain absent." She shed tears of passion as she thus poured forth her selfish sorrow, whilst her uncle made no reply, in silence listening to her words.