Pierre Philibert took his departure early from the house of the Lady
de Tilly, to make his preparations for leaving the city next day.
His father was aware of his project, and approved of it.
The toils of the day were over in the house of the Chien d'Or. The
Bourgeois took his hat and sword and went out for a walk upon the
cape, where a cool breeze came up fresh from the broad river. It
was just the turn of tide. The full, brimming waters, reflecting
here and there a star, began to sparkle under the clear moon that
rose slowly and majestically over the hills of the south shore.
The Bourgeois sat down on the low wall of the terrace to enjoy the
freshness and beauty of the scene which, although he had seen it a
hundred times before, never looked lovelier, he thought, than this
evening. He was very happy in his silent thoughts over his son's
return home; and the general respect paid him on the day of his fete
had been more felt, perhaps, by the Bourgeois than by Pierre
himself.
As he indulged in these meditations, a well-known voice suddenly
accosted him.
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