"Patience, my dear friend; patience, perhaps she may return to-morrow."
"To-morrow! let me see, it is only six o'clock, only six, you are sure?"
"Just five, dear Eugene shall I read to you? this is a new book from Paris, it has made a great noise," said Julie.
"You are very kind, but I will not trouble you."
"It is any thing but trouble."
"In a word, then, I would rather not."
"Oh! that he could see," thought Julie; "would I not punish him for this!"
"I hear carriage-wheels; who can be passing this way? Surely it is the voiturier from Bruxelles," said St. Amand, starting up, "it is his day, his hour, too. No, no, it is a lighter vehicle," and he sank down listlessly on his seat.
Nearer and nearer rolled the wheels; they turned the corner; they stopped at the lowly door; and—overcome,—overjoyed, Lucille was clasped to the bosom of St. Amand.
"Stay," said she, blushing, as she recovered her self-possession, and turned to Le Kain, "pray pardon me, sir. Dear Eugene, I have brought with me one who, by God's blessing, may yet restore you to sight."