The Parisians, Book 9.

ry has been given to the sunshine, some fresh balm to the air-you feel younger, and happier, and lighter, in the very beat of your heart-you almost fancy you he

dawned before? And while vaguely asking yourself that question, you become aware that the cause is no mere il

lain de Rochebriant, and as certain words, then spoken, echoed back on

ed that long cold interval of absence? She had not forgotten-she could not believe that absence had brought forgetfulness. T

, and blushing with sweeter love-thoughts as she sang! All that had passed in that year so critical to her outer life-the authorship, the fame, the public car

r been since the day on which she sat read

the east, and seemed bathed in the sunbeams of deepening May, she took her bird from its c

t Valerie had conceived some jealous pain which she longed to heal; she could not bear the thought of leaving any one that day unhappy. Ignorant be

with frank mention of Rochebriant. "I have to thank you so much, dear Valerie, for a pleasure you could not anticipate-that of talking abo

an absent friend-ah! you seemed indeed v

and do not grudge me the happiest

nt! No doubt, Mademoiselle Cicog

t the arm of Isaura tenderly entwining her waist,

er be charming to me-never touch a chord in my heart or my fancy except as

's eyes, felt convinced by the limpid candour of their unmistakable honesty, and fl

oo engrossed by her own hopes and doubts to exact confidences in return. Valerie's was one of those impulsive eager natures that longs for a confidante. Not so Isaura's. Only when Valerie had unburthened

distrust of me should occasion you pain, I have pained myself, in making clear to you the reason why I felt interest in M. de Rochebriant's conversation. In turn, I ask of you a favour-do not on this point question me farther. There are some things in ou