"You, a soldier—one who has led a life of bustle and excitement, and who, by the account of his friends, has been a veritable Wandering Jew?"
"Nevertheless, 'tis true; I envy this rural solitude; here we are quite lost in a forest of flowers, aloes, and palms."
"How romantic we are becoming!" said she merrily; "but when our tastes are so different, monsieur——"
"Ah, do not say so!"
"Even our races, and our creeds," she added, sighing; "so be pleased to say how or why?"
"Well; in your heart there seems to be filled here all the domestic void I feel in my own—a circle of near and dear relations. You have a father to consult and to embrace. Mine is in his grave, and I scarcely ever knew him. You have a mother, who, whenever she kisses you, makes me think of mine whom I left in her old age; you have two sisters, each beautiful as yourself, Georgette, who, each time that I behold them near you, make me think of my poor little Lotty in Scotland, far away."
"Ecosse! I have heard papa talk of that country; the sun never shines in England; and an old Abbé once assured me that the moon is only seen sometimes in Scotland; now tell me, M. l'Ecossais, is that true?"
"One day you shall see for yourself."
"Oh, Oliver," said she, almost weeping; "papa will never consent to your loving me."
"Do not say so, Georgette; for though I have my own fears on the subject, your misgivings make me wretched."