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154 year; and it would have been sweet indeed to go down to the summer-house after dinner. She had not a doubt but that Guillaume was regular in his attendance at their former trysting-place. He must be stretching out his arms to her now, calling her, entreating her, reproaching her: oh, the torture of not being able to go to him!

She never ceased thinking of him. The memories of their common past formed the only charm of the present; and, by one of love's illusions, she made her own memories begin on the very day on which Guillaume's began. And so she remembered the minute when he had caught her raising her mourning-veil in the garden by the ruins. She remembered the moment when, hiding behind a curtain, he had come near to her for the first time. Had she not always loved him? Why had she, from the first and despite Guillaume's deliberate rebuffs, sought to tame him, as Mme. de la Vaudraye called it, and to win his liking? Why also her