And now that we had got within the neighbourhood where Maria lived, and having read the story over but the night before, it remained so strong in our minds, we could not pass one of the many little rivers without stopping to debate, whether it was here Mr. Sterne discovered her,—her elbow on her lap, and her head leaning on one side within her hand. And as there were many poplars by every turn of every stream, this was no easy matter to decide.——
“It must be here,” said we, when the river, after running under the road, danced out in delight. But the next minute——
“No, it is here!” we cried, when, having lost its way in a thicket, the stream suddenly wandered back to the poplars and the open sunlight.
—In this manner we lingered lovingly in the sweet Bourbonnais; and it so happened that when the cathedral spires of Moulins came in sight we had settled upon a dozen resting-places for poor Maria, who has long since found her last; in fancy had a dozen times wiped her eyes with Mr. Sterne, and felt the most indescribable emotions within us, and had made a dozen declarations that we were positive we had a soul.—It was a serious tax upon sentiment. But when we entered Moulins——
“At least now,” we said, “there can be no doubt that just here they walked together, her arm within his, and Sylvio following by the lengthened string.”
