Little more than a year later the transformation which the old Valmet
place had undergone was the talk and wonder of Cote Joyeuse. One would
have looked in vain for the ruin; it was no longer there; neither was
the log cabin. But out in the open, where the sun shone upon it, and the
breezes blew about it, was a shapely structure fashioned from woods
that the forests of the State had furnished. It rested upon a solid
foundation of brick.
Upon a corner of the pleasant gallery sat Leandre smoking his afternoon
cigar, and chatting with neighbors who had called. This was to be his
pied a terre now; the home where his sisters and his daughter dwelt. The
laughter of young people was heard out under the trees, and within the
house where La Petite was playing upon the piano. With the enthusiasm
of a young artist she drew from the keys strains that seemed marvelously
beautiful to Mam'selle Pauline, who stood enraptured near her. Mam'selle
Pauline had been touched by the re-creation of Valmet. Her cheek was as
full and almost as flushed as La Petite's. The years were falling away
from her.
Ma'ame Pelagie had been conversing with her brother and his friends.
Then she turned and walked away; stopping to listen awhile to the music
which La Petite was making. But it was only for a moment. She went on
around the curve of the veranda, where she found herself alone. She
stayed there, erect, holding to the banister rail and looking out calmly
in the distance across the fields.
She was dressed in black, with the white kerchief she always wore folded
across her bosom. Her thick, glossy hair rose like a silver diadem from
her brow. In her deep, dark eyes smouldered the light of fires that
would never flame. She had grown very old. Years instead of months
seemed to have passed over her since the night she bade farewell to her
visions.
Poor Ma'ame Pelagie! How could it be different! While the outward
pressure of a young and joyous existence had forced her footsteps into
the light, her soul had stayed in the shadow of the ruin.