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ces where bright fountains were plashing. Since I discovered that she avoided me when we met, I had never taken this path on my rounds, although leading directly to one of my outposts, but preferred rather a different and longer route. Now, however, I sought it eagerly; and as I hurried on, I dreaded lest my unwonted haste might excite suspicion. I resolved to see and speak to her. It was her brother's wish that I should know her; and till now I felt as though my great object in coming to France was unobtained, if I knew not her whose name was hallowed in my memory. Poor Charles used to tell me she would be a sister to me. How my heart trembled at the thought! As I drew near I stopped to think how she might receive me; with what feelings hear me speak of one who was the cause of all her unhappiness. But then they said she loved De Beauvais. What! was poor Claude forgotten? Was all the lovedream of her first affection passed? My thoughts ran wild as different impulses struggled through them, and I could resolve on nothing. Before me, scarcely a dozen paces, and alone, she stood looking on the calm lake, where the light in golden and green patches played, as it struggled through the dense foliage. The clattering of my sabre startled her, and without looking back, she dropped her veil, and moved slowly on. "Mademoiselle de Meudon!" said I, taking off my shako, and bowing deeply before her. "What! how! Why this name, sir? Don't you know it's forbidden here?" "I know it, Madame. But it is by that name alone I dare to speak to you. It was by that I learned to know you,--from one who loved you, and who did not reject my humble heart; one who, amid all the trials of hard fate, felt the hardest to be,--the wrong he did his sister." "Did you speak of my brother Charles?" said she, in a voice low and tremulous. "I did, Madame. The last message his lips ever uttered was given to me,--and for you. Not until last night did I know that I was every hour of the day so near to one whose name was treasured in my heart." "Oh, tell me of him! tell me of my dear Charles!" cried she, as the tears ran fast down her pale cheeks. "Where was his death? Was it among strangers that he breathed his last? Was there one there who loved him?" "There was! there was!" cried I, passionately, unable to say more. "And where was that youth that loved him so tenderly? I heard of him as one who never left his side,--tending him in sickness
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