not;" and her confusion was a most exquisite sight to see.

"But I have not described your eyes yet; here are the two lines that
I made about them:

"Annette's eyes are starlight mingled with the deepest dusk of
night;--
Eyes with lustre rich and glorious like some sweet, warm, southern
light."

"Oh, no, no, monsieur, they are not true; I don't want you to say
any more of them to me," and she put her hand over her face; for the
dear little one's embarrassment was very great.

"That is all I wrote about you; but I may write some more. You say,
petite, that they are not true. I confess that they are not--true
enough. Why, sweet, brave, and most lovely of girls, they fall far
short of showing your merits in the full. I have so far tried to
explain only what is beautiful in your face; but, darling, you have a
nobleness of soul that no language of mine could describe.

"I believe, my heroic love, that you have regarded yourself as a
mere plaything in my eyes. Why, ma chere, all of my heart you have
irrevocably. One of your dear hands is more precious to me, than any
other girl whom mine eyes have ever seen. Do you remember the
definition of love that I tried to give you? Well, I gave it from my
own experience. With such a love, my prairie flower, do I adore you.
It is fit now that we are so soon to part, that I should tell you
this: and you will know that every blow I strike, every noble deed I
do, shall be for the approbation of the dear heart from whom fate