, and watching
beside him in sorrow. Was he not there?"

"I was! I was! My hand held his; in my ear his last sigh was breathed."

"Oh! was it you indeed who were my brother's friend?" said she, seizing
my hand, and pressing it to her lips. The hot tears dropped heavily on
my wrist, and in my ecstasy I knew not where I was. "Oh," cried she,
passionately, "I did not think that in my loneliness such a happiness as
this remained for me! I never dreamed to see and speak to one who knew
and loved my own dear Charles; who could tell me of his solitary hours
of exile,--what hopes and fears stirred that proud heart of his; who
could bring back to me in all their force again the bright hours of our
happy youth, when we were all to each other,--when our childhood knew
no greater bliss than that we loved. Alas, alas! how short-lived was it
all! He lies buried beyond the sea in the soil of the stranger; and I
live on to mourn over the past and shudder at the future. But come, let
us sit down upon this bank; you must not leave me till I hear all about
him. Where did you meet first?"

We sat down upon a grassy bench beside the stream, where I at once began
the narrative of my first acquaintance with De Meudon. At first the rush
of sensations that came crowding on me made me speak with difficulty and
effort. The flutter of her dress as the soft wind waved it to and fro,
the melody of her voice, and her full, languid eye, where sorrow and
long-buried affection mingled their expression, sent thrilling
through my heart thoughts that I dared not dwell upon. Gradually, as I
proceeded, my mind recurred to my poor friend, and I warmed as I spoke
of his heroic darings and his bold counsels. All his high-souled ardor,
all the nobleness of his great nature,--his self-devotion, and his
suffering,--were again before me, mingled with those traits of womanly
softness which only belong to those whose courage was almost fanaticism.
How her dark eyes grew darker as she listened, and her parted lips and
her fast-heaving bosom betrayed the agitation that she felt! And how
that proud look melted into sorrow when I told of the day when his
outpouring heart recurred to home and her, the loved one of his boyhood.
Every walk in that old terraced garden, each grassy alley and each shady
seat, I knew as though I saw them.

Although I did not mention Claude, nor even distinctly allude to the
circumstances which led to their unhappiness, I could see that her c