own,
his eyes dreamy and fixed with hostile intentness on vacancy, his
shoulders drooping and swaying from side to side like those of a
drunken man,--he saw pass before him, rattling and joyous, a brilliant
equipage, which, like a sleigh covered with bells, seemed to leave in
its wake a long jocund peal of merriment and laughter.

In this vehicle, which mortals were then accustomed to call, and
indeed call still, a curricle, sat two young men who were conversing;
and as the melancholy Jacques passed on his way, the younger
student--for such he was--said, laughing, to his companion:

"Look, Ernest, there is a man in love!"

Mowbray raised his head, and seeing Jacques, smiled sadly and
thoughtfully; then his breast moved, and a profound sigh issued from
his lips: he made no reply.

"Why!" cried Hoffland, "you have just been guilty, Ernest, of a
ceremony which none but a woman should perform. What a sigh!"

Mowbray turned away his head.

"I was only thinking," he said calmly.

"Thinking of what?"

"Nothing."

"I see that you think one thing," said Hoffland, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eye; "to wit, that I am very prying."

"No; but my thoughts would not interest you, Charles," said Mowbray.

And a sigh still more profound agitated his lips and breast.

"Suppose you try me," his companion said; "speaking generally, your
thoughts do interest me."

"Well, I was thinking of a woman," said Mowbray.

"A woman! Oh! then your time, in your own opinion at least, was thrown
away."

"Worse," said Mowbray gloomily; "worse by far."

"How?"

"It is useless, Charles, to touch upon the subject; let it rest."

"No; I wish you to tell me, if I am not intrusive, what woman you were
at the moment honoring with a sigh."

Mowbray raised his head calmly, and yielding like all lovers to the
temptation to pour into the bosom of his friend those troubled
thoughts which oppressed his heart, said to his companion:

"The woman we were speaking of the other day."

"You have not told me her name," said Hoffland.

"It is useless."

"Why?"

"Because she is lost to me."

"Lost?"

"For ever."

And after this gloomy reply, Mowbray looked away.

Hoffland placed a hand upon his arm, and said:

"Upon what grounds do you base your opinion that she is lost to you?"

"It is not an opinion; I know it too well."

"If you were mistaken?"

"Mistaken!" said Mowbray; "mistaken! You think I am mistaken? Then you
know not