Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/138

 all; and so it was that Philip Rondelet listened to the story of Therese. It was told with a passionate eloquence by the fever-stricken girl lying in her splendid beauty among the pillows, and the tale was interrupted by bursts of tears and paroxysms of exhausting anger. To Philip it seemed as if scene after scene of a drama was being enacted before his eyes as he listened to the torrent of words which poured from her lips. She told him of the life she first remembered in Spain, where her childhood had been passed in a quiet convent, with only the sweet-faced nuns for company and a score of children of her own age. Here she grew to womanhood, and here she saw for the first time the man who had made her life a reality and no longer a pleasant day-dream. She had first seen him through the grated window of the convent reception-room as he stood talking to his sister, her playmate and warmest friend. She had known nothing of her home and nothing of her family, except her father, who had placed her at the convent, and to whom she wrote letters at stated intervals under the direction of the Superior. Of her friend's brother, Fernand Thoron, she had often heard, and soon she heard more and more of him; for she had been seen through the grate even as she had seen through it, and in the presents and letters which found their way to Fernand's