The pressure of his hand had
been warmer, the tone of his voice softer, the glance of his eye
more kind, and he looked pityingly, she thought, upon her wan face
when he left her in the gallery, and with a cheery voice and a kiss
bade her take care of her health and win back the lost roses of
Acadia.
These words passed through her mind with unceasing repetition, and
a white border of light was visible on the edge of the dark cloud
which hung over her. "The roses of Acadia will never bloom again,"
thought she sadly. "I have watered them with salt tears too long,
and all in vain. O Bigot, I fear it is too late, too late!" Still,
his last look and last words reflected a faint ray of hope and joy
upon her pallid countenance.
Dame Tremblay entered the apartment, and while busying herself on
pretence of setting it in order, talked in her garrulous way of the
little incidents of daily life in the Chateau, and finished by a
mention, as if it were casual, of the arrival of the wise woman of
the city, who knew everything, who could interpret dreams, and tell,
by looking in a glass or in your hand, things past, present, and to
come.
Pages:
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799