"Alas! our groves are dull,
When widowed of thy sight,
And neither hedge nor field
Their perfume seem to yield;
The blue sky is not bright:
When you return once more,
All that was sad is gone,
All nature you restore;
We breathe in you alone.
We could your rosy lingers cover
With kisses of delight all over!
But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss,
Such triumphs do but purchase pain;
What is it to be loved like this,
To her who cannot love again!
"The dove you lost of late,
Might warn you, by her flight;
She sought in woods her mate,
And has forgot you quite;
She has become more fair,
Since love has been her care.
'Tis love makes all things gay,
Oh follow where he leads—
When beauteous looks decay,
What dreary life succeeds!
And ah! believe me, perfect bliss,
A joy, where peace and triumph reign,
Is when a maiden loved like this,
Has learnt 'tis sweet to love again."
The song is ended; and the crowd, delighted at its meaning, are full of applause, and clap their hands in praise.
"Heavens! what a song!—how appropriate! who composed so sweet a lay?"
"It was Pascal," replied Thomas.
"Bravo, Pascal,—long live Pascal!" was the general cry.
Françonnette is silent; but she feels and enjoys it all,—she is proud, and exults: she has the love of all—of all now. It is told her, a song has been made for her; and she hears it sung before every one—yes, every one knows she is the person meant. She thinks on Pascal, too, and becomes grave.
"He has no equal," she mused. "How brave he is! every one holds him in esteem; all are on his side. How well he can paint love! doubtless they all love him. And what a song! what tender meaning!" Not a word has escaped her. "But, if he loves, why does he thus conceal himself?" She turned to his friend, and exclaimed:
"It seems long since we saw him. I would fain tell him how beautiful we think his song. Where is he?"
"Oh! he is obliged to stay at home," said Laurent, jealous and piqued. "Pascal has no more time, methinks, for song making. Poor man! his ruin is not far off; his father is infirm, and cannot leave his bed; he is in debt everywhere; the baker refuses to trust him."