To you, Eucharis and Eleonore, we owe the moving elegies of Bertin and Parny's charming verses.

Time pa.s.ses very swiftly when we are writing poetry for her we love.

Frederic was still leaning over his notebook and writing busily, when he heard a faint sound; he turned his head and saw Sister Anne behind him, watching him with deep interest. She blushed when he detected her, but Frederic set her mind at rest, and, bidding her sit down beside him, read what he had written.

Sister Anne had no idea what poetry was; but she understood Frederic's meaning in what he read. The heart is the key to an unsophisticated woman's mind; the opposite is true of women of worldly training.

The girl was already less shy and embarra.s.sed in Frederic's presence; at sixteen, one is quick to make acquaintances, especially when one has no knowledge of the customs of society or of its laws. Frederic was so gentle and kind and sympathetic! he pitied her, he talked of her sad story, and the poor orphan was surprised to find that there was somebody besides old Marguerite who was interested in her destiny. The village people always manifested much sympathy and pity for her; but there is in that sentiment something distressing to its object. But that was not what she read in Frederic's eyes. He talked to her with deep interest and looked at her with affection, and she was already beginning to feel less unhappy.

But the approach of night found them still seated by the stream. They had been there two hours, to their great surprise. Anne rose and pointed to Frederic's horse; then turned her eyes anxiously toward the village, the woods, and the mountains, and lastly upon Frederic himself.

"I am going to Gren.o.ble," he said; "I am staying there now with two friends, who may be alarmed by my long absence. But I will come again to-morrow, I will come every day. Do you think that I could pa.s.s a single day without seeing you?"

The girl smiled, and seemed more content; she went with him to where his horse was waiting; he pressed her soft hand to his lips, and finally made up his mind to return to the city. Sister Anne went to the edge of the woods, in order to follow him with her eyes as far as the twilight permitted. Not until she could no longer hear his horse's step, did she return slowly to the cabin, pensive and dreamy, surprised by the unfamiliar sensations of which she was conscious, but which she could not understand.

XII

HOW A MAN LOVES AT TWENTY

"Where in the devil have you been?" Dubourg inquired of Frederic, who arrived at the inn just as his two companions were sitting down to supper.

"I have been--riding about the neighborhood."

"What a mania you have for travelling about the country! Are you going to lead the same kind of life here as at Lyon?"

"Possibly."

"That will be amusing for us! At Lyon, we could at least vary our amus.e.m.e.nts a little, see people----"

"Yes, the Marquise de Versac, and others, eh?"

"But here! why, we know the city by heart already. If one could make an acquaintance or two, obtain an introduction to a few houses--but when a man has no money, he doesn't dare to show his face anywhere, for it gives one an awkward manner that betrays one at once. If it's absolutely necessary, in every place we stop, for you to know the history of every tree, every stone, and every view, and to pause in rapt contemplation beside every brook, why, we shan't get to Italy for ten years! and your life won't be long enough for you to see half of Europe."

"I must say," observed Menard, "that monsieur le baron's remarks seem to me most judicious. We move about as rapidly as a tortoise, _si parva licet componere magnis_."

"I could forgive you for making a minute examination of Naples or Florence; there are monuments there which one cannot contemplate too long. Gaze in admiration at the Coliseum or the Basilica of Saint Peter at Rome; walk on Mount Pausilippus or Vesuvius, and I shall not be surprised; but what do you find so extraordinary in this province? It is picturesque and romantic, I agree; but we shall find some much more remarkable views on our journey. Wait, before going into ecstasies, until you are on the glaciers of Mont Blanc, or on some peak of the Apennines; and don't stand a whole day in admiration before an old mulberry-tree overhanging a tiny stream; for there are trees, shrubbery, turf, and fountains everywhere--except in the African desert; and we are not going so far as that."

"My friend," said Frederic, with a smile, "I have found here what one would seek in vain elsewhere; and that, to my mind, is of more value than all the wonders of the world."

With that, Frederic went to his room and to bed, paying no heed to Dubourg, who called after him:

"For heaven's sake, tell us what you've found?--What in the devil can he have found, Monsieur Menard?"

"I am trying to think, monsieur le baron."

"Gad! I wonder if it's the wallet that was stolen from me at Lyon."

"Or your berlin, monsieur le baron."

"My berlin! of course, that's all spent before now--that is to say, that rascal of a postilion has probably sold it to get money for drink."

"True, that is probable. What a pity! such a venerable carriage!"

"But what can he have found that's so delightful?"

"Perhaps it's a method of keeping eggs fresh on a journey."

"Bah! as if Frederic ever gave a thought to such things!"

"But it would be a most valuable discovery, monsieur le baron. Somebody gave me a receipt for it once, and also one for making milk punch, but I was unlucky enough to lose them while moving."

"It is plain that we shall not find out what he has found, unless he chooses to tell us."

"I will go and think about it while I sleep, monsieur le baron."

"And I will go to sleep thinking about it, Monsieur Menard."

Early the next morning, Frederic again set out for the village. He rode down into the valley, left his horse in a field where the gra.s.s was as high as his knees, and walked rapidly along the path toward the woods; in a moment he was on the hillside with Sister Anne, who had already driven her little flock to pasture.

A deep flush overspread the girl's cheeks at sight of Frederic; she smiled, and offered him her hand with a friendly air. She had begun to be impatient at his non-arrival; "Will he not come again?" she had said to herself, and had kept her eyes fastened on the path from the valley.

She had known him only two days; but in a heart so affectionate and pure as hers, love is certain to make rapid progress. Was it, then, love that she already felt for the young stranger? Poor child! I am afraid so; and was it not natural? was she not at an age when love blends with all our other sentiments? and Frederic was well adapted to inspire it.

"I am late," he said, "for my horse did not share my impatience; dear friend, I am so happy with you! I would like never to leave you."

Anne gazed earnestly at him for a long while; she sighed, pointed to the road leading to the city, then glanced at her cabin, as if to say:

"We shall always be separated."

"Leave that cabin, agree to come with me," cried Frederic, eagerly; "and we will never part."

The girl rose with a gesture of dismay, and, pointing again to the cabin, imitated old Marguerite's tottering steps; then shook her head emphatically, while her eyes shone with a divine expression which said to Frederic:

"No, I will never leave her."

"Oh! forgive me; I am wrong, I can see it now; your heart cannot be ungrateful; forgive me! love led me astray."

The dumb girl bore him no ill-will; she returned to her seat by his side, and a charming smile lighted up her features. Her beautiful hair, fluttering in the wind, caressed Frederic's face, and she laughed as she drew it away. But he pa.s.sed an arm about her waist, and held that lovely head against his heart. His eyes exchanged tender glances with Sister Anne's; his lips touched her cheeks, and the pretty dumb girl's sweet breath mingled with the air he breathed; are not such moments the sweetest in love, the happiest in life?

They pa.s.sed thus a great part of the day. Frederic remained in the woods, where Sister Anne brought him fruit and milk, so that he need not go to the village. Already the girl dreaded to have him leave her. She ran again and again to the cabin to see if Marguerite needed her; but the good old woman slept much of the day, and Sister Anne soon ran back to her new friend.

Toward evening, she remained longer with her adopted mother. Meanwhile, Frederic went down to the stream and waited for her there, his notebook making the time pa.s.s quickly. When the girl surprised him writing, she heaved a profound sigh, and, looking sadly down at herself, seemed to say:

"I don't know anything; I never shall know anything."

"I will be your teacher," said Frederic, in reply to her unspoken thoughts; "I will teach you to speak on paper."