"
Mr. Brown put the matter at rest, as far as he was concerned, for one
day, as she returned from a walk, he accosted her on the veranda, and
with a series of the most violent grimaces and gesticulations, his eyes
flashing, his face working in every possible direction, he told her
that he was _desole_: his life depended upon her. He was so odd and
absurd in his avowal that she burst out laughing: then, as she beheld
an indignant, inquiring expression on his honest red countenance, she
grew frightened, sank on a seat and wept hysterically. This encouraged
him: he sat down beside her and exclaimed, "Dear mees"--and he peered
at her blandly--"your life is empty: so is mine. Let it be for me--oh,
so beautiful!"--and he spread out his little fat hands with
rapture--"to comfort and console one heavenly existence, _ensemble."_
He placed a hand on each stout knee and gazed benignly down upon her.
She hung her head as sheepishly as if she returned the little
foreigner's affection--afraid of wounding him, she was speechless--when
at this unlucky moment Colonel Pinckney, coming suddenly round the
house, walked up the steps. She saw him glance at her--Mr. Brown's back
was toward him--and a smile he evidently couldn't restrain stole over
his face.
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