“She watches late，” thought I， “for it must be now near midnight.She is a fascinating little woman，” I continued in voiceless soliloquy； “her image forms a pleasant picture in memory； I know she is not what the world calls pretty—no matter， there is harmony in her aspect， and I like it； her brown hair， her blue eye， the freshness of her cheek， the whiteness of her neck， all suit my taste.Then I respect her talent； the idea of marrying a doll or a fool was always abhorrent to me： I know that a pretty doll， a fair fool， might do well enough for the honeymoon； but when passion cooled， how dreadful to find a lump of wax and wood laid in my bosom， a half idiot clasped in my arms， and to remember that I had made of this my equal—nay， my idol—to know that I must pass the rest of my dreary life with a creature incapable of understanding what I said， of appreciating what I thought， or of sympathizing with what I felt！ “Now， Zora？de Reuter，” thought I， “has tact， caractère， judgment， discretion； has she heart？ What a good， simple little smile played about her lips when she gave me the branch of lilacs！ I have thought her crafty， dissembling，interested sometimes， it is true； but may not much that looks like cunning and dissimulation in her conduct be only the efforts made by a bland temper to traverse quietly perplexing difficulties？ And as to interest， she wishes to make her way in the world， no doubt， and who can blame her？ Even if she be truly deficient in sound principle， is it not rather her misfortune than her fault？ She has been brought up a Catholic： had she been born an Englishwoman， and reared a Protestant， might she not have added straight integrity to all her other excellences？ Supposing she were to marry an English and Protestant husband， would she not， rational， sensible as she is， quickly acknowledge the superiority of right over expediency， honesty over policy？ It would be worth a man’s while to try the experiment； to-morrow I will renew my observations.She knows that I watch her： how calm she is under scrutiny！ it seems rather to gratify than annoy her.” Here a strain of music stole in upon my monologue， and suspended it； it was a bugle， very skilfully played， in the neighbourhood of the park， I thought， or on the Place Royale.So sweet were the tones， so subduing their effect at that hour， in the midst of silence and under the quiet reign of moonlight， I ceased to think， that I might listen more intently.The strain retreated， its sound waxed fainter and was soon gone； my ear prepared to repose on the absolute hush of midnight once more.No.What murmur was that which， low， and yet near and approaching nearer， frustrated the expectation of total silence？ It was some one conversing—yes， evidently， an audible， though subdued voice spoke in the garden immediately below me.Another answered； the first voice was that of a man， the second that of a woman； and a man and a woman I saw coming slowly down the alley.Their forms were at first inshade， I could but discern a dusk outline of each， but a ray of moonlight met them at the termination of the walk， when they were under my very nose， and revealed very plainly， very unequivocally， Mdlle Zora？de Reuter， arm-in-arm， or hand-in- hand (I forget which) with my principal， confidant， and counsellor，M.Fran？ois Pelet.And M.Pelet was saying—“A quand donc le jour des noces， ma bien-aimée？” And Mdlle Reuter answered—“Mais， Fran？ois， tu sais bien qu’il me serait impossible de me marier avant les vacances.”
“June， July， August， a whole quarter！” exclaimed the director.“How can I wait so long？—I who am ready， even now， to expire at your feet with impatience！”
“Ah！ if you die， the whole affair will be settled without any trouble about notaries and contracts； I shall only have to order a slight mourning dress， which will be much sooner prepared than the nuptial trousseau.”
“Cruel Zora？de！ you laugh at the distress of one who loves you so devotedly as I do： my torment is your sport； you scruple not to stretch my soul on the rack of jealousy； for， deny it as you will， I am certain you have cast encouraging glances on that school-boy， Crimsworth； he has presumed to fall in love， which he dared not have done unless you had given him room to hope.”
“What do you say， Fran？ois？ Do you say Crimsworth is in love with me？”
“Over head and ears.” “Has he told you so？”
“No—but I see it in his face： he blushes whenever your name ismentioned.” A little laugh of exulting coquetry announced MdlleReuter’s gratification at this piece of intelligence (which was a lie， by-the-by—I had never been so far gone as that， after all).M.Pelet proceeded to ask what she intended to do with me， intimating pretty plainly， and not very gallantly， that it was nonsense for her to think of taking such a “blanc-bec” as a husband， since she must be at least ten years older than I (was she then thirty-two？ I should not have thought it).I heard her disclaim any intentions on the subject—the director， however， still pressed her to give a definite answer.
“Fran？ois，” said she， “you are jealous，” and still she laughed；then， as if suddenly recollecting that this coquetry was not consistent with the character for modest dignity she wished to establish， she proceeded， in a demure voice： “Truly， my dear Fran？ois， I will not deny that this young Englishman may have made some attempts to ingratiate himself with me； but， so far from giving him any encouragement， I have always treated him with as much reserve as it was possible to combine with civility； affianced as I am to you， I would give no man false hopes； believe me， dear friend.” Still Pelet uttered murmurs of distrust—so I judged， at least， from her reply.
“What folly！ How could I prefer an unknown foreigner to you？ And then—not to flatter your vanity—Crimsworth could not bear comparison with you either physically or mentally； he is not a handsome man at all； some may call him gentleman-like and intelligent-looking， but for my part—”
The rest of the sentence was lost in the distance， as the pair， rising from the chair in which they had been seated， moved away.I waited their return， but soon the opening and shutting of a door informed me that they had re-entered the house； I listened a littlelonger， all was perfectly still； I listened more than an hour—at last I heard M.Pelet come in and ascend to his chamber.Glancing once more towards the long front of the garden-house， I perceived that its solitary light was at length extinguished； so， for a time， was my faith is love and friendship.I went to bed， but something feverish and fiery had got into my veins which prevented me from sleeping much that night.
