"Whom, pray?"
"Do you remember Adrienne?"
She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!"
Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she died at the convent of Saint S—— about 1832."
[APPENDIX.]
'EL DESDICHADO.'
GÉRARD DE NERVAL.
I am that dark, that disinherited.
That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,
The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;
A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!
Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,
Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,
Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,
The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain.
Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been
Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen
Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,
And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,
And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,
Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!
(ANDREW LANG.)