Page:Cerise, a tale of the last century (IA cerisetaleoflast00whytrich).pdf/483

 Bending sedulously over an especial treasure, she did not remark how long a silence was preserved by her companion, though rising she could not fail to observe the agitation of his looks nor the shaking hands with which he strove to assist her in a task already done.

"These are very late roses," said he, in a tone strangely earnest for the enunciation of so simple a remark. "There are still half a dozen more buds to blow, and winter has already arrived."

"That's why I am so fond of them," she replied. "Winter comes too early both in the garden and in the house. I like to keep my flowers as long as I can, and my illusions too."

She sighed while she spoke, and Florian, looking tenderly in her face, noticed its air of languor and despondency. A wild, mad hope shot through his heart, and coming close to her side, he resumed—

"It will be a week at least before this green bud blows, and in a week, Lady Hamilton, I shall be gone."

"So soon?" she said, in a low, tender voice, modulated to sadness by thoughts of her own in no way connected with his approaching departure. "I had hoped you would stay with us the whole winter, Monsieur de St. Croix. We shall miss you dreadfully."

"I shall be gone," he repeated, mournfully, "and a man in my position can less control his own movements than a wisp of seaweed on the wave. In a day or two, perhaps in a few hours, I must wish you good-bye, and—and—it is more than probable that I shall never see you again."

Clasping her hands, she looked at him with her blue eyes wide open, like a child who is half-grieved, half-frightened, to see its plaything broken, yet not entirely devoid of curiosity to know what there is inside. Like a flash came back to him the white walls, the drooping laburnums, the trellised beech-walk in the convent garden, and before him stood Mademoiselle de Montmirail, the Cerise of the old, wild, hopeless days, whom he ought never to have loved, whom least of all should he dare to think of now.

"Do you remember our Lady of Succour?" said he; "do you remember the pleasant spring-time, the smiling