"No matter how fast the hours
go, they are to me like centuries of thought."
Suddenly she took Francine's hand, and her voice, soft as that of the
first red-throat singing after a storm, slowly gave sound to the
following words:--
"Try as I will to forget them, I see those two delicious lips, that
chin just raised, those eyes of fire; I hear the 'Hue!' of the
postilion; I dream, I dream,--why then such hatred on awakening!"
She drew a long sigh, rose, and then for the first time looked out
upon the country delivered over to civil war by the cruel leader whom
she was plotting to destroy. Attracted by the scene she wandered out
to breathe at her ease beneath the sky; and though her steps conducted
her at a venture, she was surely led to the Promenade of the town by
one of those occult impulses of the soul which lead us to follow hope
irrationally. Thoughts conceived under the dominion of that spell are
often realized; but we then attribute their pre-vision to a power we
call presentiment,--an inexplicable power, but a real one,--which our
passions find accommodating, like a flatterer who, among his many
lies, does sometimes tell the truth.
III
A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW
The preceding events of this history having been greatly influenced by
the formation of the regions in which they happened, it is desirable
to give a minute description of them, without which the closing scenes
might be difficult of comprehension.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248