flattered herself with the fond hope that he would return, and that
her forgiveness of his neglect would revive in him all his former
affection. Three months ago this hope was destroyed, she heard that he
was--_married_. Since that time she has only languished; she wished
to live for the sake of her parents, but her grief has proved the most
powerful. He quitted me in the month of May," said she to me; "in the
month of May I shall quit life." "That time is come, and Marie is no
more."--"Tell us her whole history," exclaimed two or three of the
listeners, at once. Isabelle consented; they were crowding round her,
and Henri was approaching nearer, and redoubling his attention, when
the funeral bell tolled drearily and solemnly. He started, and Isabelle
said, with a sigh, "I must tell you my dear friend's story another time;
we must now accompany her remains to their last sad home, and place
these flowers upon her coffin."

They walked on mournfully, two and two, and Henri followed them with an
interest that he could not account for, or define. The coffin advanced,
preceded by the priests, bearing torches that were obscured by the
silvery light of the moon; it was carried by six men, and among them it
was easy to recognise Guillaume, by his profound sorrow; for, to Henri's
great surprise, he alone wept. The more aged men who followed the
corpse, the one even next it, and who, of course, was the father, or
nearest relative of the deceased, had, like the rest, merely a composed
and serious countenance, undisfigured by any great affliction. The body
was lowered into the grave; the officiating minister made a brief, and
somewhat cold, discourse on the frailty of life; the young females
afterwards came forward, and each threw her wreath of flowers on the
coffin; and then chanted some rhymes.

The grave was then about to be filled up; the noise of the earth, in