The did not understand the discourse,
which made it the more affecting.
There hung over it that inscrutable charm which hovers forever for the
human intellect over the incomprehensible and shadowy. When the last hymn
was sung the German conducted the officiator to Tant Sannie, who graciously
extended her hand, and offered coffee and a seat on the sofa. Leaving him
there, the German hurried away to see how the little plum-pudding he had
left at home was advancing; and Tant Sannie remarked that it was a hot day.
Bonaparte gathered her meaning as she fanned herself with the end of her
apron. He bowed low in acquiescence. A long silence followed. Tant
Sannie spoke again. Bonaparte gave her no ear; his eye was fixed on a
small miniature on the opposite wall, which represented Tant Sannie as she
had appeared on the day before her confirmation, fifteen years before,
attired in green muslin. Suddenly he started to his feet, walked up to the
picture, and took his stand before it. Long and wistfully he gazed into
its features; it was easy to see that he was deeply moved. With a sudden
movement, as though no longer able to restrain himself, he seized the
picture, loosened it from its nail, and held it close to his eyes. At
length, turning to the Boer-woman, he said, in a voice of deep emotion:
"You will, I trust, dear madam, excuse this exhibition of my feelings; but
this--this little picture recalls to me my first and best beloved, my dear
departed wife, who is now a saint in heaven.
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