"Have you done, my gentle mentor?" asked De Valette, in an accent of
vexation.

"Not quite; I wish to know whether you, or the melodious screech-owl,
represent the tuneful bird of night, alluded to in the aforesaid
stanzas? I have heard no other who could pour forth such exquisite
notes, since my destiny brought me hither."

"And it will be long ere you hear me again," said De Valette, angrily.
"I shall be careful not to excite your mirthful humor again, at my own
expense!"

"Now you are not angry with me, I hope, Eustace," she said, with
affected concern; "you well know, that I admire your music exceedingly;
nay, I think it unrivalled, even by the choice psalmody of our worthy
chaplain; and as to the poetry, I doubt if any has yet equalled it, in
this our ancient settlement of St. John's."

"Farewell, Luciè," said De Valette; "when I waken you again"--

"Oh, you did not waken me," interrupted Luciè, I will spare your
conscience that reproach; had I gone to rest, I should scarcely have
risen, even had a band of fairies tuned their tiny instruments in the
moonlight, beneath my window. But, go now, Eustace,--yet stay, and tell
me first, if we part in charity?"

"Yes, it must be so, I suppose; I _was_ vexed with you, Luciè, but you
well know that your smiles are always irresistible."

"Well, you will allow that I have been very lavish of my smiles