Above them was a hill which was almost split in twain by a gorge or

gully, down through which a brook leaped and hounded and tumbled,

rolling its musical "r's." The four started up the long incline, the

women gathering the belated flowers and the men picking up curious

sticks or sending boulders hurtling down the hillside. Higher and

higher they mounted till the summit was reached. Hill after hill

rolled away to the east, to the south, to the west, while toward the

north the lake glittered with all the brilliancy of a cardinal's plate.

"Can it be," said Victor, breaking the spell, "can it be that we once

knew Paris?"

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"Paris!" repeated madame. Her eyes took in her beaded skirt and

moccasins and replaced them with glowing silks and shimmering laces.

Paris! Many a phantom was stirred from its tomb at the sound of this

magic name.

Anne perched herself upon a boulder and the Chevalier rested beside

her, while madame and the poet strolled a short distance away.

"Shall we ever see our dear Paris again, Gabrielle?" asked the poet.

"I hope so; and soon, soon!"

"How came you to sign that paper?"

"He would have broken my arm, else. How I hated him! Tricks,

subterfuges, lies, menaces; I was surrounded by them. And I believed

in so many things those early days!"

"How softly breathes this last, lingering ghost of summer," he said.

"How lovingly the pearls and opals and amethysts of heaven linger on

the crimsoning hills! See how the stream runs like a silver thread,

laughing and singing, to join the grave river. We can not see the

river from here, but we know how gravely it journeys to the sea. Can

you not smell the odor of mint, of earth, of the forest, and the water?

Hark! I hear a bird singing. There he goes, a yellow bird, a golden

rouleau of song. How the yellow flower stands out against the dark of

the grasses! It is all beautiful. It is the immortality in us which

nature enchants. See how the wooded lands fade and fade till they and

the heavens meet and dissolve! And all this is yours, Gabrielle, for

the seeing and the hearing. Some day I shall know all things, but

never again shall I know the perfect beauty of this day. Some day I

shall know the reason for this and for that, why I made a bad step here

and a short one there; but never again, this hour." He picked up a

chestnut-bur and opened it, extending the plump chestnuts to her.

How delicately this man was telling her that he still loved her!

Absently her hand closed over the chestnuts, and the thought in her

eyes was far away. If only it had been written that she might love him!




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