And turning away she disappeared, leaving Bruno utterly stupefied. When at last he realized the situation, he was overpowered. His words must have seemed so cruel to her.
“Oh, how miserable it all is! Poor, poor Sidonie! How I must have wounded her loyal heart. Oh, why—why could I not have loved her instead of Catherine? We might have been so happy! and now only misery awaits us.”
CHAPTER XI.
TEMPTATION.
Bruno possessed an ardent poetic nature. In his boyhood he was a day-dreamer. While his village comrades ravaged birds’ nests, played at leap-frog, and in other ways distinguished themselves for mischief, he was wandering alone by the river lost in revery. With his feet buried in the cool ripples, he loved to watch the water and study the habits of the finny tribes as they played about him.
He knew where the trout made a home under the rocks, and in the cool summer evenings, with his legs bared to the thigh, he would surprise them in their hiding-places and then a wild chase would follow. How many times would his hand close over some little creature, only to find the next moment that it had slipped from his fingers and escaped among the pebbles.
As he grew into a tall, graceful boy of fifteen, however, he began to think how he could best serve Mother Mathurine, and with a good will he went to work. But most of his leisure time was devoted to trout-fishing and he became an expert angler. Many a fine string of trout bore witness to his skill, and the people of the village looked to him for a supply when a present of that nature was to be made for a fête or a social party.
“Bruno’s trout always have the best flavor,” once remarked Andoche, “and I do not understand how he coaxes them to bite.”
And now Bruno was grown to manhood.