It was the incarnation of all
the shapes of grace and beauty that had passed through his fervid
fancy during so many years of absence from his native land.
Something there was of the features of the young girl who had ridden
with flying locks, like a sprite, through the woods of Tilly. But
comparing his recollection of that slight girl with the tall, lithe,
perfect womanhood of the half-blushing girl before him, he hesitated,
although intuitively aware that it could be no other than the idol
of his heart, Amelie de Repentigny.
Le Gardeur solved the doubt in a moment by exclaiming, in a tone of
exultation, "Pierre Philibert, I bring an old young friend to greet
you--my sister!"
Philibert advanced, and Amelie raised her dark eyes with a momentary
glance that drew into her heart the memory of his face forever. She
held out her hand frankly and courteously. Philibert bent over it
as reverently as he would over the hand of the Madonna.
The greeting of the Lady de Tilly and La Corne St. Luc had been
cordial, nay, affectionate in its kindness.
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