her heart rejoice, and
brought a bright flush to her cheeks and a happy light to her eyes that
rendered her more adorably beautiful than ever.

"Whatever you may do or say, my darling," he answered, with a sweet,
tender smile, "you will never be able to tire out my constancy. If need
be, I will wait for you until all your scruples shall have vanished of
themselves--though it be not till these beautiful, soft brown tresses,
with their exquisite tinge of gold where the sun shines on them, shall
have turned to silver."

"Oh!" cried Isabelle, "I shall be so old and so ugly then that even
your sublime courage will be daunted, and I fear that in rewarding
your perseverance and fidelity by the gift of myself I should only be
punishing my devoted knight and brave champion."

"You will never be ugly, my beloved Isabelle, if you live to be a
hundred," he replied, with an adoring glance, "for yours is not the mere
physical beauty, that fades away and vanishes--it is the beauty of the
soul, which is immortal."

"All the same you would be badly off," rejoined Isabelle, "if I were to
take you at your word, and promise to be yours when I was old and gray.
But enough of this jesting," she continued gravely, "let us be serious!
You know my resolution, de Sigognac, so try to content yourself with
being the object of the deepest, truest, most devoted love that was ever
yet bestowed on mortal man since hearts began to beat in this strange
world of ours."

"Such a charming avowal ought to satisfy me, I admit, but it does
not! My love for you is infinite--it can brook no bounds--it is ever
increasing--rising higher and higher, despite your heavenly voice, that
bids it keep within the limits you have fixed for it."

"Do not talk so, de Sigognac! you vex me by such extravagances," said
Isabelle, with a little pout that was as charming as her sweetest smile;
for in spite of herself her heart beat high with joy at these fervent
protestations of a love that no coldness could repel, no remonstrance
diminish.

They walked on a little way in silence--de Sigognac not daring to say
more then, lest he should seriously displease the sweet creature he
loved better than his own life. Suddenly she drew her arm out of his,
and with an exclamation of delight, sprang to a little bank by the
road-side, where she had spied a tiny violet, peeping out from amid
the dead leaves that had lain there all the winter through--the first
harbinger of spring, sm