In a comic opera, once much appreciated by soldiers of the French nation, there occurs a quaint refrain, to the effect that the gathering of strawberries in a certain wood at Malieux is a delightful pastime,
"Quand on est deux,
Quand on est deux—,"
and the sentiment, thus expressed, seems applicable to all solitudes, suburban or otherwise, where winding paths and rustic seats admit of two abreast. But however favoured by nature, the very smoothest of lawns and leafiest of glades surely lose more than half their beauty, if we must traverse them unaccompanied by somebody who makes all the sunshine, and perhaps all the shade, of our daily life.
To wait for such a companion, is nevertheless an irritating ordeal, even amidst the fairest scenery, trying both to temper and nerves. It has been said that none realise the pace at which time gallops, till they have a bill coming due. On the other hand none know how slow he can crawl, who have not kept an uncertain tryst with over-punctuality "under the greenwood tree!"
General St. Josephs was not a man to be late for any preconcerted meeting, either with friend or foe. It is a long way from Mayfair to Kensington Gardens; it seemed none the shorter for an impatient spirit and a heart beating with anxiety and hope. Yet the old soldier arrived at the appointed spot twenty minutes too soon, there to suffer torments from a truly British malady called "the fidgets," while diligently consulting his watch and reconnoitering his ground.
How many turns he made, pacing to and fro, between the round pond and the grove, through which he longed to behold his goddess advancing in a halo of light and beauty, he would have been ashamed to calculate.
Some women never can be in time for anything, even for a lover; and after half an hour's waiting, that seemed a week, he drew a little note from his breast-pocket, kissed it reverently, and read it once more from end to end.
It said twelve o'clock, no doubt, and certainly was a very short epistle to be esteemed so sweet. This is what, through many perusals, he had literally learned by heart—
"My dear General,
"I want a long talk. Shall I find you in Kensington Gardens, where you say it's so pretty, at twelve o'clock?
"Ever yours,
"Blanche."