Her beauty, her vivacity, her modest reticences, and her delicate
tact in addressing the captious spirit of Le Gardeur, filled Pierre
with admiration. He could at that moment have knelt at her feet
and worshipped in her the realization of every image which his
imagination had ever formed of a perfect woman.
Now and then she played on the harp for Le Gardeur the airs which
she knew he liked best. His sombre mood yielded to her fond
exertions, and she had the reward of drawing at last a smile from
his eyes as well as from his lips. The last she knew might be
simulated, the former she felt was real, for the smile of the eye
is the flash of the joy kindled in the glad heart.
Le Gardeur was not dull nor ungrateful; he read clearly enough the
loving purpose of his sister. His brow cleared up under her
sunshine. He smiled, he laughed; and Amelie had the exquisite joy
of believing she had gained a victory over the dark spirit that had
taken possession of his soul, although the hollow laugh struck the
ear of Pierre Philibert with a more uncertain sound than that which
fluttered the fond hopes of Amelie.
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