"But the tale?" she asked, to change his tone. She wanted time to prepare herself for a tête-à-tête. She began to fear her own sudden impulses.
"Well," he said, "the plot is told in a few words; 'tis the working out of various feelings which is so perfect:—A man loves a girl whom he should not love——
"Why?" and she stilled her heart, and looked calmly at him.
"Because he was rich, and she only a poor, simple, peasant girl. Could I reverse the case, I might find tongue to speak more eloquently on the subject; as it is, I can only tell your ladyship facts."
"And what were these facts?"
"They journeyed together, on horseback—not as we are doing, but in more primitive style, she on a pillion behind him. He was a young widower"—(these words were each distinctly articulated)—"and his boy rode before him, on his knee: 'tis a pretty scene! Night, however, comes on, and they lose their way, and at last find themselves beside the 'Mare au Diable,' noted as fatal to all approaching it; and beside this they pass the night."
"And?" she asked, deeply interested.
"The place was fatal; for Love was the spirit there. Probably," he added, laughing, "as Le Diable is often said to 'émporte l'amour,' he might have brought him to that spot. Certain it is, there he was, and he prompted two, to know their own hearts who had never known them before."
"I am all impatience for the conclusion."
"I am a bad story-teller; besides, the case is so completely against my position, that I cannot fully, soulfully, enter into it; however, I will satisfy your ladyship's impatience. Hearts will speak at last—theirs did; and he, for her sake, relinquished a rich marriage, station, all—and married the simple girl."