For a long while this beautiful woman wandered about the paths of the
lonely garden, seemingly absorbed in reveries of various kinds. At times
she was gay, at times sad. At length she approached a bed of violets,
which, from the training of the plants, had evidently, been carefully
tended, and, observing that they languished under the intense heat of
the past day, began to grieve over them.

"Alas! my dear little flowers, why did I neglect to water you yesterday?
You are very thirsty, are you not, my charming pets?"

For a moment or two she was quiet, still gazing at the violets, and
then continued, in the same dreamy tone:--

"But then, alas! since yesterday my mind has been so disturbed, so
happy, so--" Her eyes fell, and a blush crimsoned her cheeks, as she
murmured, softly, "GUSTAVE!"

Motionless as a statue, and absorbed in her enchanting dream, she forgot
the poor little violets, and, probably, the whole world.

"His image ever, ever before me! his voice ever ringing in my ears! Why
try to escape their fascination? Oh, God! what is this that is passing
within me? My heart trembles; sometimes my blood bounds wildly through
my veins, and then again it creeps and freezes; and yet how happy I am!
what inexpressible joy fills my very soul!"

She was silent; then, seeming suddenly to rouse herself, she raised her
head and threw back the thick curls, as if anxious to disembarrass her
mind of a haunting thought.