of her dawning love. One
tear which escaped her eyes turned Etienne's pain to pleasure, and he
inwardly accused himself of tyranny. It was fortunate for both that
in the very beginning of their love they should thus come to know the
diapason of their hearts; they avoided henceforth a thousand shocks
which might have wounded them.

Etienne, impatient to entrench himself behind an occupation, led
Gabrielle to a table before the little window at which he himself had
suffered so long, and where he was henceforth to admire a flower more
dainty than all he had hitherto studied. Then he opened a book over
which they bent their heads till their hair touched and mingled.

These two beings, so strong in heart, so weak in body, but embellished
by all the graces of suffering, were a touching sight. Gabrielle was
ignorant of coquetry; a look was given the instant it was asked for,
the soft rays from the eyes of each never ceasing to mingle, unless from
modesty. The young girl took the joy of telling Etienne what pleasure
his voice gave her as she listened to his song; she forgot the meaning
of his words when he explained to her the position of the notes or their
value; she listened to HIM, leaving melody for the instrument, the
idea for the form; ingenuous flattery! the first that true love meets.
Gabrielle thought Etienne handsome; she would have liked to stroke the
velvet of his mantle, to touch the lace of his broad collar. As for
Etienne he was transformed under the creative glance of those earnest
eyes; they infused into his being a fruitful sap, which sparkled in his
eyes, shone on his brow, remade him inwardly, so that he did not
suffer from this new play of his faculties; on the contrary they were
strengthened by it. Happiness is the mother's milk of a new life.

As nothing came to distract them from each other, they stayed together
not only this day but all days; for they belonged to one another from
the first hour, passing the sceptre from one to the other and playing
with themselves as children play with life. Sitting, happy and content,
upon the golden sands, they told each other their past, painful for him,
but rich in dreams; dreamy for her, but full of painful pleasure.

"I never had a mother," said Gabrielle, "but my father has been good as
God himself."

"I never had a father," said the hated son, "but my mother was all of
heaven to me."

Etienne related his youth, his love for his mother, his taste for
flow