lm and cheerful for days, and even weeks; in which
time it was supposed that hope predominated in her mental malady; and
that, when the dark side of her mind, as her friends call it, was
about to turn up, it would be known by her neglecting her distaff or
her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weeping in silence.

She passed on from the chapel without noticing the fete, but smiling
and speaking to many as she passed. I followed her with my eye as she
descended the winding road towards Honfleur, leaning on her father's
arm. "Heaven," thought I, "has ever its store of balms for the hurt
mind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this broken flower to
be once more the pride and joy of the valley. The very delusion in
which the poor girl walks, may be one of those mists kindly diffused
by Providence over the regions of thought, when they become too
fruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised which obscures
the horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly to
contemplate the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view."

On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, I turned off from
the beaten route at Rouen, to revisit some of the most striking scenes
of Lower Normandy. Having passed through the lovely country of the
Pays d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a fine afternoon, intending to
cross to Havre the next morning, and embark for England. As I had no
better way of passing the evening, I strolled up the hill to enjoy the
fine prospect from the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace; and while there,
I thought of inquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. The
priest who had told me her story was officiating at vespers, after
which I accosted him, and learnt from him the remaining circumstances.
He told me that from the time I had seen her at the chapel, her
disorder took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health rapidly
declined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less frequent, and
attended with more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, and moody in
her melancholy; her form was wasted, her looks pale and disconsolate,
and it was feared she would never recover. She became impatient of all
sounds of gayety, and was never so contented as when Eugene's mother
was near her. The good woman watched over her with patient, yearning
solicitude; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would half forget
her own. Sometimes, as she sat looking upon her pallid face, the tears
would fill her ey