"It looks like it darling; I hope we are doing the right thing," and his voice implied a painful sense of conscientiousness.
Before parting they agreed to meet once more. Fifine persisted in offering her wealth, and Bijou did not decline. She might bring him the cheque at their next meeting and trust to his fond affection for the rest. He then bade her a tender farewell, and as she watched his departing footsteps, she was delighted when he turned a last time, sajing gayly, "Au revoir, ma petite, à demain." Then he disappeared in a bend of the road, and she walked slowly back to the house, lost in the delicious labyrinths of loves young dream.
CHAPTER XXIII.
"Oh, Love' before thy glowing shrine
My early vows were paid—
My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine
But these are now decayed."
—Byron
It was a dark, heavy evening in midsummer. Great volumes of leaden gray clouds were piling one over the other in the sulky sky, the air was laden with an unshed moisture, and a threatening breeze rustled through the dry, dusty leaves of the crowded elms. There was an unnatural stillness in Nature—everything looked drowsy and tired, the boughs swayed and nodded, and the flowers hung their sleepy heads like worn-out midnight watchers.
Fifine had hoped madly for the storm to keep off, and now as her fleet steps brought her nearer the rendezvous at the end of the avenue, her heart misgave her, and an indescribable feeling of awe, that had something of a dread presentiment in it, filled her very soul. She pressed the cherished gift for her lover close against her heaving breast, and when she reached the shady nook where they were accustomed to meet, her breath was coming in wild gasps, and her eyes were dilated far beyond their natural size. She was a little too soon, but in her anxiety, watchmg the clouds, the moments sped quickly by, until the arrival of the man she so madly adored.
He could not restrain a look of admiration as his eyes rested on her dark beauty. She had put on her daintiest bonnet, with cardinal ribbons tied under her chin, and a bunch of crushed camellias of the same becoming hue nestled against her shell-like ear. A light cashmere overdress surmounted a petticoat of crimson velvet, and tiny jewels were fastened at her ears and throat. The flush of excitement that mantled her fair young face, lent an additional charm to her countenance, as she looked into her lover's face with all the eagei joy and confidence that filled her heart.
Bijou looked a little more serious than usual, as he knocked the ashes from the end of his cigar.
"Ma foi, you are enchanting to-night, Josephine," said he by way of greeting, "but as it looks like a storm, we must make business brisk. I have come to-night, Fifine," he said, taking her hand, "to ask a proof of the words you I uttered last night. I want you to show me bravely that you do think a little of me."
"Only say the word, Bijou. Anything that is in my power. I will do it—anything that is not her voice faltered.