"Have you some trouble, some profound sorrow? Can it be that you, young as you are, are already acquainted with unhappiness? If it were in my power to lighten your burden, I should consider myself very fortunate."
The girl glanced at him with an expression in which melancholy resignation was blended with gratitude. She fastened her lovely eyes on his for a moment, then, with a graceful courtesy, started to walk away. He took her hand and gently detained her. She seemed surprised, yes, frightened, and withdrew her hand from the young man's, who was already pressing it.
"You are going away," said Frédéric, "without answering me, without deigning to say a word to me?"
The girl's eyes became even more expressive, as if animated by indescribable pain; in a moment, they were filled with tears, which trickled down her almost colorless cheeks.
"Great heaven! you weep! can it be that I am the cause?" cried Frédéric, seizing the poor child's hand again. She made a sign, as if to say that it was not his fault. A faint smile broke through her tears; but she withdrew her hand again, and, darting into the thickest part of the wood, as light of foot as a fawn, she speedily disappeared.
He took a few steps in the same direction; but it was quite dark, and he could not see where she went. So he returned to the stream and stopped at the place where she had been sitting.
Frédéric could not as yet fully realize his feelings, but he was conscious of a sentiment for that girl more tender, more intense, and at the same time much more delicious to his heart, than any of his previous passions. When he lost sight of her, his heart beat violently; it seemed to him already that she was something to him. What grace, what charms! But why that melancholy and that silence? They called her Sister Anne: what was the significance of that title of Sister? Did she belong to some religious order? But, no; her costume did not indicate anything of that kind, and she was free to go where she chose. But there was an air of mystery about her.
"Lovely girl!" thought Frédéric, looking toward the forest in which she had vanished; "I propose to find out all about you; I propose to see you again and to allay your grief. I feel that I love you already; yes, I love you; not as I loved all those coquettes who deceived me, but as you deserve to be loved; for I read sincerity and innocence in your eyes. Ah! how happy I should be, if you should come to love me some day!"
But it had grown quite dark; it was time for him to join his companions. Frédéric regretfully left the willow-bordered path where he had seen Sister Anne; but as he returned to the valley, he said to himself:
"I will see her again; I absolutely must! I won't mention her to Dubourg; he would laugh at me; he believes that all women are alike; he has no conception of love.—Poor child! I will soon find out why you don't take part in your comrades' sports."