"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here."
"And in Paris?" she asked.
"In Paris—" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us stop here, will you?"
I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my days.
"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever."
She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival.
"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was not offended.