I followed her, after that, wherever she went. At length she
came to notice, to smile upon me. My motto was en avant! That
is a French word. I got it out of the back part of Worcester's
Dictionary.

III.

She wrote me that I might come and see her at her own house. Oh,
joy, joy unutterable, to see her at her own house!

I went to see her after nightfall, in the soft moonlight.

She came down the graveled walk to meet me, on this beautiful
midsummer night--came to me in pure white, her golden hair in
splendid disorder--strangely beautiful, yet in tears!

She told me her fresh grievances.

The Marquis, always a despot, had latterly misused her most
vilely.

That very morning, at breakfast, he had cursed the fishballs and
sneered at the pickled onions.

She is a good cook. The neighbors will tell you so. And to be
told by the base Marquis--a man who, previous to his marriage,
had lived at the cheap eating-houses--to be told by him that her
manner of frying fishballs was a failure--it was too much.

Her tears fell fast. I too wept. I mixed my sobs with her'n.