The poor child could not speak; her emotion and joy were too great. But such happiness don't kill; and gradually she revived, although she still trembled like a leaf.
“O Jeannet!” she said at last, “they wrote word you were dead.”
“And was that the reason you were weeping here all alone in this wood, my poor, dear darling?” he tenderly asked.
“Yes,” said she, looking down; “I could not be consoled. Why did you not send us some news?”
“I wished to surprise you,” said he, with simplicity; “and now I see I did wrong.”
“One day more, and I would have been dead also,” said she, leaning on his arm. “Cruel boy, go!”
She looked so lovely, still pale with grief, and yet as lively and coquettish as before, Jeannet was obliged to clasp her once again in his arms, and even kissed her, for which I hope you will pardon him, as I do.
“How good God is,” said he, “to permit us to meet again in this very place! This is the second time, [pg 312] dear Jeannette, that I have saved you when in great trouble; and I hope it is a sure sign that poor Jean-Louis will be able to comfort and assist you all the rest of his life.”
“You will never leave us again; you will promise that?” she replied. “When you are away, all sorts of misfortunes happen. Oh! how much we have suffered.”
And as these words suddenly recalled the sad events of the last six months, her flirtation, her thoughtless conduct, and the lamentable scenes that followed, she blushed, sighed, and leant her face, down which the tears were streaming, against Jean-Louis' shoulder.