"Mademoiselle," I said, "I have just seen your boy, Pierre, riding
towards Clochonne."
"Yes," she replied, looking off towards the darkest part of the forest.
"I--I was alarmed at your absence. I did not know where you had gone; I
sent him to look for you."
"Then I would better run after and call him back," I said, taking a step
towards the road.
"No, no!" she answered, quickly. "Do not leave me now. He will come back
soon of his own accord. I told him to do so if he did not find you. I
must ask you to bear with me, monsieur. The solitude, the strangeness of
the place, almost appal me. I feel a kind of terror when I do not know
that you are near."
"Mademoiselle," I said, sitting beside her on the bench, "I cannot
describe that which I shall feel, if I am doomed ever to know that you
are not near me. It will be as if the sun had ceased to shine, and the
earth had turned barren."
A blush mounted to her cheeks; she dropped her humid eyes; her breast
heaved. For an instant she seemed to have forgotten her distresses. Then
sorrow resumed its place on her countenance, and she answered, sadly:
"Ah, monsieur, when you shall have truly known me!"
"Have I not known you a whole day?" I asked. "I wonder that life had any
relish for me before yesterday. It seems as if I had known you always,
though the joy that your presence gives me will always be fresh and
novel.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225