In half an hour he was slowly on his way back to town—his arms hanging down, his head bent to his breast, his dreamy eyes fixed intently upon vacancy.
Jacques saw nothing around him; Belle-bouche alone was in his vision—Belle-bouche, who by another chance was snatched from him.
The odor of the peach blossoms seemed a weary sort of odor, and the lark sang harshly.
As he passed through a meadow, he heard himself saluted by name—by whom he knew not. He bowed without looking at the speaker; he only murmured, "One more chance gone." As he passed the residence of Sir Asinus, he heard that gentleman laughing at him; he only sighed, "Belle-bouche!"[(Back to Table of Content.)]
CHAPTER X.
MOWBRAY OPENS HIS HEART TO HIS NEW FRIEND.
Instead of following the melancholy Jacques to his chamber, let us return to the meadow in which he had been saluted by the invisible voice. A brook ran sparkling like a silver thread across the emerald expanse, and along this brook were sauntering two students, one of whom had spoken to the abstracted lover.
He who had addressed Jacques was Mowbray; the other was Hoffland, the young student who had just arrived at Williamsburg.
Hoffland is much younger than his companion—indeed, seems scarcely to have passed beyond boyhood; his stature is low, his figure is slender, his hair flaxen and curling, his face ornamented only with a peach-down mustache. He is clad in a suit of black richly embroidered; wraps a slight cloak around him spite of the warmth of the pleasant May afternoon; and his cocked hat, apparently too large for him, droops over his face, falling low down upon his brow.
They walk on for a moment in silence.