"I thought I did, but I have found that I am as ignorant as yourself."

"There is a mad humor in me to-day. Wish me good luck and bid me be

gone."

"Good luck to you, Paul; good luck to you, comrade." And Victor's

smile, if forced, was none the less affectionate.

"And luck to your ode, my good poet. I go to find me a nosegay."

And when he was gone, Victor remained motionless in his chair. Two

years! Ah, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, was that quite fair? He thought of

all the old days, and a great wave of bitterness rushed over him. He

no longer heard the blackbird. The quill fell from his fingers, and he

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laid his head upon his arms.

"I am tired," was all he said.

The Chevalier wended his way toward the Ursulines. His heart beat

furiously. Sometimes his feet dragged, or again they flew, according

to the fall or rise of his courage. The sight of a petticoat sent him

into a cold chill. He tramped here and there, in all places where he

thought possibly she might be found. Half the time he caught himself

walking on tiptoe, for no reason whatever. Dared he inquire for her,

send a fictitious note enticing her forth from her room? No, he dared

do neither; he must prowl around, waiting and watching for his

opportunity. Would she laugh, be indignant, storm or weep? Heaven

only knew! To attack her suddenly, without giving her time to rally

her forces,--formidable forces of wit and sarcasm!--therein lay his

hope.

"What a coward a woman can make of a man! I have known this woman two

years; I have danced and dined with her, made love, and here I can

scarce breathe! I am lost if she sees me in this condition, or finds a

weak spot. How I love her, love her! I have kissed the air she leaves

in passing by. Oh! I will solve this enchanting mystery. I have the

right now; I am rich, and young."

It will be seen that the gods favor those who go forward.

By the wall of the Ursulines stood a rustic bench, and upon this bench

sat madame. She was waiting for Anne, who was paying her usual morning

devotions under the guidance of the Mother Superior. Madame was not

very busy with her eyes, and the jeweled miniature which she held in

her hand seemed no longer to attract her. The odor of rose and

heliotrope pervaded the gently stirring air. From the convent garden

came the melting lilt of the golden oriole. By and by madame's gaze

returned to the miniature. For a brief space poppies burned in her

cheeks and the seed smoldered in her eyes. Then, as if the circlet of

gold and gems was distasteful to her sight, she hastily thrust it into

the bosom of her gown. Madame had not slept well of late; there were

shadows under her lovely eyes.




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