time of my recovery
sank into my heart; which had known, save by my mother's bedside, little
of such joys. To awake in the morning to sweet sounds and scents, to eat
with reviving appetite and feel the slow growth of strength, to lie all
day in shade or sunshine as it pleased me, and hear women's voices and
tinkling laughter, to have no thought of the world and no knowledge
of it, so that we might have been, for anything we saw, in another
sphere--these things might have sufficed for happiness without that
which added to each and every one of them a sweeter and deeper and more
lasting joy. Of which next.
I had not begun to take notice long before I saw that M. Francois and
madame had come to an understanding; such an one, at least, as permitted
him to do all for her comfort and entertainment without committing
her to more than was becoming at such, a season. Naturally this left
mademoiselle much in my company; a circumstance which would have
ripened into passion the affection I before entertained for her, had
not gratitude and a nearer observance of her merits already elevated my
regard into the most ardent worship that even the youngest lover ever
felt for his mistress.
In proportion, however, as I and my love grew stronger, and
mademoiselle's presence grew more necessary to my happiness--so that
were she away but an hour I fell a-moping--she began to draw off from
me, and absenting herself more and more on long walks in the woods,
by-and-by reduced me to such a pitch, of misery as bid fair to complete
what the fever had left undone.
If this had happened in the world I think it likely that I should have
suffered in silence. But here, under the greenwood, in common enjoyment
of God's air and earth, we seemed more nearly equal. She was scarce
better dressed, than a sutler's wife; while recollections of her wealth
and station, though they assailed me nightly, lost much of their point
in presence of her youth and of that fair and patient gentleness which
forest life and the duties of a nurse had fostered.
So it happened that one day, when she had been absent longer than usual,
I took my courage in my hand and went to meet her as far as the stream
which ran through the bottom by the redthorn. Here, at a place where
there were three stepping-stones, I waited for her; first taking away
the stepping-stones, that she might have to pause, and, being at a loss,
might be glad to see me.
She came presently, tripping thr
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