"All—everything—the straggling weed-grown garden, through which we passed to our daily devotions—the congregation standing respectfully to let us walk by, for my mother was still the great Marquise D'Estelles, although my father had been executed, and our estates confiscated. They who had known us in our prosperity, were as respectful and devoted as ever; and poor old Richard, the lame sacristan, that used to take my mother's bouquet from her, and lay it on the altar; how every thing stands out clear and distinct before my memory! Nay, Maurice, but I can tell you more, for strangely enough, certain things, merely trifles in themselves, make impressions that even great events fail to do. There was a little boy, a child somewhat older than myself, that used to serve the mass with the Père, and he always came to place a footstool or a cushion for my mother. Poor little fellow, bashful and diffident he was, changing color at every minute, and trembling in every limb; and when he had done his duty, and made his little reverence, with his hands crossed on his bosom, he used to fall back into some gloomy corner of the church, and stand watching us with an expression of intense wonder and pleasure! Yes, I think I see his dark eyes glistening through the gloom, ever fixed on me! I am sure, Maurice, that little fellow fancied he was in love with me!"
"And why not, Laura; was the thing so very impossible? was it even so unlikely?"
"Not that," said she archly, "but think of a mere child; we were both mere children; and fancy him, the poor little boy, of some humble house, perhaps; of course he must have been that, raising his eyes to the daughter of the great 'marquise;' what energy of character there must have been to have suggested the feeling; how daring he was, with all his bashfulness!"
"You never saw him afterward?"
"Never!"
"Never thought of him, perhaps?"
"I'll not say that," said she, smiling. "I have often wondered to myself, if that hardihood I speak of had borne good or evil fruit. Had he been daring or enterprising in the right, or had he, as the sad times favored, been only bold and impetuous for the wrong!"
"And how have you pictured him to your imagination?" said I, as if merely following out a fanciful vein of thought.
"My fancy would like to have conceived him a chivalrous adherent to our ancient royalty, striving nobly in exile to aid the fortunes of some honored house, or daring, as many brave men have dared, the heroic part of La Vendée. My reason, however, tells me, that he was far more likely to have taken the other part."
"To which you will concede no favor, Laura; not even the love of glory."