whole evening.

Chapter iii.

Oswald visited Corinne at an early hour, uneasy at what she had said to
him. He was received by her maid, who gave him a note from her mistress
informing him that she had entered the convent on that same morning,
agreeably to the intention of which he had been apprised by her, and
that she should not be able to see him until after Good Friday. She
owned to him that she could not find courage to make known her intention
of retiring so soon, in their conversation the evening before. This was
an unexpected stroke to Oswald. That house, which the absence of Corinne
now rendered so solitary, made the most painful impression upon his
mind; he beheld her harp, her books, her drawings, all that habitually
surrounded her; but she herself was no longer there. The recollection of
his father's house struck him--he shuddered and, unable to support
himself, sunk into a chair.

"In such a way as this," cried he, "I might learn her death! That mind,
so animated, that heart, throbbing with life, that dazzling form, in all
the freshness of vernal bloom, might be crushed by the thunderbolt of
fate, and the tomb of youth would be silent as that of age. Ah! what an
illusion is happiness! What a fleeting moment stolen from inflexible
Time, ever watching for his prey! Corinne! Corinne! you must not leave
me; it was the charm of your presence which deprived me of reflection;
all was confusion in my thoughts, dazzled as I was by the happy moments
which I passed with you. Now I am alone--now I am restored to myself,
and all my wounds are opened afresh." He invoked Corinne with a kind of
despair which could not be attributed to her short absence, but to the
habitual anguish of his heart, which Corinne alone could assuage.
Corinne's maid, hearing the groans of Oswald, entered the room and,
touched with the manner in which he was affected by the absence of her
mistress, said to him, "My lord, let me comfort you; I hope my dear lady
will pardon me for betraying her secret. Come into my room, and you
shall see your portrait." "My portrait!" cried he. "Yes; she has painted
it from memory," replied Theresa (that was the name of Corinne's maid);
"she has risen at five o'clock in the morning this week past, in order
to finish it before she went to the convent."

Oswald saw this portrait, which was a striking likeness and most
elegantly executed: this proof of the impression which he had made on
Corinne penetrate