ly living statuette which was now advancing towards
him, silvered by the moon and wrapped in its light, redoubled the
palpitations of his heart, but without causing him to suffer.

"My child," said Beauvouloir, "this is monseigneur."

In a moment poor Etienne longed for his father's colossal figure; he
would fain have seemed strong, not puny. All the vanities of love and
manhood came into his heart like so many arrows, and he remained
in gloomy silence, measuring for the first time the extent of his
imperfections. Embarrassed by the salutation of the young girl, he
returned it awkwardly, and stayed beside Beauvouloir, with whom he
talked as they paced along the shore; presently, however, Gabrielle's
timid and deprecating countenance emboldened him, and he dared to
address her. The incident of the song was the result of mere chance.
Beauvouloir had intentionally made no preparations; he thought, wisely,
that between two beings in whom solitude had left pure hearts, love
would arise in all its simplicity. The repetition of the air by
Gabrielle was a ready text on which to begin a conversation.

During this promenade Etienne was conscious of that bodily buoyancy
which all men have felt at the moment when a first love transports their
vital principle into another being. He offered to teach Gabrielle
to sing. The poor lad was so glad to show himself to this young girl
invested with some slight superiority that he trembled with pleasure
when she accepted his offer. At that moment the moonlight fell full upon
her, and enabled Etienne to note the points of her resemblance to his
mother, the late duchess. Like Jeanne de Saint-Savin, Beauvouloir's
daughter was slender and delicate; in her, as in the duchess, sadness
and suffering conveyed a mysterious charm. She had that nobility of
manner peculiar to souls on whom the ways of the world have had no
influence, and in whom all is noble because all is natural. But in
Gabrielle's veins there was also the blood of "la belle Romaine," which
had flowed there from two generations, giving to this young girl the
passionate heart of a courtesan in an absolutely pure soul; hence the
enthusiasm that sometimes reddened her cheek, sanctified her brow, and
made her exhale her soul like a flash of light, and communicated the
sparkle of flame to all her motions. Beauvouloir shuddered when
he noticed this phenomenon, which we may call in these days the
phosphorescence of thought; the old physicia