Julie gazed on the scene for a moment, and contemplated all its wide luxuriance. But there was something too general in it. She knew not why, but she turned away with a sigh, and, descending into the valley, seated herself under some almond-trees, watching the lapse of a small brook that wound murmuring along towards the Rhone.
She was buried in contemplation, it matters not of what, when she was roused by quick footfall coming down the little path that led from the hill. It was a stranger whom she had never before seen, and one that she would have fain looked at again if it had not been for modesty's sake, for he was a sort of being not often beheld in that nook of earth. In the glance she had of him, when the sound of his footsteps first called her attention, she saw that he was young and handsome. But it was not that; there was something more. There was the grace; the elegance, the indescribable air of the high and finished gentleman; and Julie, as I have said, would fain, from curiosity, have taken another look: but, however, she turned away her eyes, and fixed them again upon the brook, as if deeply interested in the current of its waters. The stranger passed close by her, and whether he turned to look at her or not, matters little, but somehow it happened that before he had got ten yards, he stopped and returned, and, pulling off his hat with a low inclination of the head, asked her the way to Arles.
The direction was very simple, and Julie gave it as clearly as she could; but, nevertheless, the stranger seemed not quite to comprehend, and lingered as if for further information. So, seeing his embarrassment, she told him if he would come to the top of the hill, she would show him the line of the high road, and then he could not mistake; and accordingly she led the way, and the stranger followed: and, as he went, he told her that he had sent forward his carriage to Arles, intending to walk straight on, but he had been induced to quit the high road, in order to see the beauties of the country.
It was but a few steps to the top of the hill, and could but afford time for a conversation of five minutes; but, for some reasons which he did not very well stop to analyze, the stranger would not have lost them for all the world; therefore he had begun at once, and he continued with ease, but with a diffidence of manner which showed he was afraid of offending. He spoke rapidly, as if he feared to lose a moment, but with that smooth eloquence which wins its way direct to the sources of pleasure within us; and to Julie's timid and simple replies he listened as if they contained his fate. When he spoke, in turn, there was something in his manner perhaps too energetic, but yet it was pleasing, and Julie attended with no small degree of admiration and surprise; and before they had reached the top of the hill, she had settled it in her own mind that he was a being of a superior order.
The high road lay at a little distance, and she pointed it out to him. The stranger thanked her for the kindness she had shown him again and again, and still he was inclined to linger; but there was no excuse for it. Julie afforded him none, and, taking his leave, he bent his steps towards the road. When he reached it, he turned his head to take one more glance of the object that had so much interested him, but Julie was no longer there.
The stranger hurried on to the town, and his first question on reaching it was directed to ascertain who it was that he had seen.
"Oh!" cried the aubergiste, half interrupting the stranger, though respectfully, for he had sent forward a splendid Parisian carriage, with servants and saddle-horses, and more travelling luxuries than visited that part of the country in a hundred years--"Oh, it must have been Mademoiselle Villars, the beauty of Arles."--"It could be no one less," echoed the garçon.
"Villars!" said the stranger--"Villars! It is very extraordinary!"
Now; why it was extraordinary nobody at the inn knew. But it so happened that early the next morning the young stranger ordered his horses to be saddled, and his groom to attend him, and setting of with that kind of ardour which characterized all he did, galloped along the road towards the spot where he had seen Julie the day before. He gave a glance towards the hill. She was not there; and, turning his horse into a road which led down towards the Rhone, he rode straight to the dwelling of Armand Villars. It had been an old French country-seat, or château; one of the smaller kind, indeed, but still it possessed its long avenue of trees, its turrets with their conical slated roofs, and a range of narrow low building in front, with small loophole windows, through the centre of which avant-corps was pierced the low dark arch that admitted into the court-yard. The stranger contrived to make himself heard, by striking his riding-whip several times against the gate, which was at length opened by an old man who had long served with Colonel Villars in Italy, and had followed him to his solitude.
"Could he see Colonel Villars?" the stranger asked. The old grenadier glanced him over with his eye, and seemed half inclined to refuse him admittance; but on the young stranger's breast hung several crosses, which told of deeds done against the enemy, and the heart of the old soldier warmed at the sight. "Colonel Villars," he said, "was not much given to seeing strangers, but if Monsieur would ride into the court he would ask."