ble and modest attitude seemed to surprise and
please them; insensibly they drew towards me, or seemed by a gracious
and encouraging gesture to address some of their remarks to me. It was
an indirect invitation to take my share in the conversation. I said a
few words in grateful recognition, but I soon relapsed into my silence
and obscurity, for fear of prolonging the conversation by keeping it
up. I considered them merely as the frame of a picture; the only real
interest I felt was in the face, the speech, and the mind of her from
whom I was shut out by their presence.

LXXVII.

What inward joy, what throbbing of the heart, when they retired, and
when I heard beneath the gateway the rolling of the carriage which bore
away the last of them! We were then alone; the night was far advanced;
our security increased at every move of the minute hand as it
approached the figure that marked midnight on the dial. Nothing was to
be heard but the sound of a few carriages, which, at rare intervals,
rattled over the stones of the quay, or the deep breathing of the old
concierge, who was stretched sleeping on a bench in the vestibule at
the foot of the stairs.

We would first look at each other, as if surprised at our happiness. I
would draw nearer to the table where Julie worked by the light of the
lamp. The work soon fell from her unheeding hands; our looks expanded,
our lips were unsealed, our hearts overflowed. Our choked and hurried
words, like the flow of water impeded by too narrow an opening, were at
first slowly poured forth, and the torrent of our thoughts trickled out
drop by drop. We could not select, among the many things we had to say,
those we most wished to impart to each other. Sometimes there was a
long silence, caused by the confusion and excess of crowded thoughts
which accumulated in our hearts and could not escape. Then they began
to flow slowly, like those first drops which show that the cloud is
about to dissolve or burst; these words called forth others in
response; one voice led on the other, as a falling child draws his
companion with him. Our words mingled without order, without answer,
and without connection; neither of us would yield the happiness of
outstripping the other in the expression of one common feeling. We
fancied that we had first felt what we disclosed of our thoughts since
the evening's conversation, or the morning's letter. At last this
tumultuous overflow, at which we laughed and