'I don't know,' said he, meditatively, and drew my hand through his arm. The cornelian bracelet slipped into view. 'Mrs. Fontevrault,' uttered he, in a ceremonious tone—my warm pulse grew still—'do you never forget?'
'Do you desire it?' I answered, gaily:
''If to remember, or forget,
Can give a longing, or regret,
command me.'
He smiled, and, stopping at a side table, poured out two glasses of wine.
'Here's to the past,' said he, eagerly; 'drink Lethe.'
We drained the glasses. Then I understood he withdrew his claim.
I wanted to go home after that; so Mr. Christopher summoned the carriage. The walks were white, and I trembled—was it with cold?—as he handed me in, and bade me good night.
The house at midnight was silent and warm. I went up stairs, and stood in the threshold of the library. The sleet driving against the window panes prevented their hearing me, I suppose. They seemed to be translating something or other. Fred's arm lay over the back of her chair. Very fast and earnestly he was talking. Marginal notes suggested by the text of Sismondi?
'What, home so early!' was his exclamation, on discovering me.