"I should think not, from appearances; yet a few days ago I imagined that Puck would return, that he had only strayed, but nobody strays among our glaciers with impunity. I shall never feel him bound again at my side, or hear him bark at the approach of travelers," and he brushed away a tear.
"What is your name?"
"Gervais."
"Listen, Gervais; you must tell me about these friends whom you have lost;" at the same time I prepared to seat myself by his side, but he sprang up eagerly, and took possession of the vacant place.
"Not here, not here, sir; this is Eulalie's seat, and since her departure nobody has occupied it."
"Eulalie," replied I, seating myself in the place from which he had just risen; "tell me about Eulalie, and yourself; your story interests me."
Gervais proceeded:
"I explained to you that my life had not been devoid of happiness, for Heaven compensates bountifully to those in misfortune, by inspiring good people with pity for their wretchedness. I lived in happy ignorance of the extent of my deprivation; suddenly, however, a stranger came to reside in the village des Bois, and formed the topic of conversation in our valley. He was only known by the name of M. Robert, but the general opinion was, that he was a person of distinction, who had met with great losses, and much sorrow, and consequently had resolved to pass his latter years in perfect solitude. He was said to have lost a wife, to whom he was tenderly attached; the result of their union, a little girl, had occasioned him much grief, for she was born blind. While the father was held up as a model for his virtues, the goodness and charms of his daughter were equally extolled. My want of sight prevented me from judging of her beauty, but could I have beheld her she could not have left a more lovely impression on my mind. I picture her to myself sometimes as even more interesting than my mother."
"She is dead, then?" inquired I.
"Dead!" replied he, in an accent in which there was a strange mixture of terror and wild joy! "dead! who told you so?"