THE MORROW.
A beautiful sun beamed across the green window-blinds, gilding the
leaves of three large roses placed in a flower-stand before the window
of Maurice. These flowers, more precious as the season was on the
decline, perfumed with a delicious fragrance the little dining-room of
spotless neatness, where at a table served with every elegancy, but
without profusion, sat Maurice and Geneviève. The door was closed, for
as the table contained all that was requisite, it was understood they
waited on themselves. They heard the official stirring in the adjoining
room. The warmth and life of the last few lovely days entered through
the half-open jalousie, making glitter like emeralds and rubies the
rose-leaves caressed by the rays of the sun.
Geneviève let fall upon her plate the golden fruit she held in her
hand. She appeared to be deep in thought, and smiling only with her
lips, while her eyes languished with a melancholy expression. She
remained thus silent, abstracted, and happy in the sun of her love, as
the beautiful flowers in the sun of heaven. Soon her eyes sought those
of Maurice, and encountered his gazing upon her. She placed her soft
white arm upon the young man's shoulder, and leaned on his breast with
that faith and confidence far exceeding love.
Geneviève looked at him without speaking, and blushed as she regarded
him. Maurice slightly inclined his head to imprint a kiss upon the
half-open lips of Geneviève. He bent his head, while she turned pale,
and closed her eyes as the delicate flower conceals its calyx from the
rays of light. They remained dreaming thus, when a sharp ring at the
door-bell suddenly startled them.
The official entered mysteriously, and closed the door.
"Here is the Citizen Lorin," said he.
"Ah! dear Lorin," said Maurice, "I will go and dismiss him. Pardon,
Geneviève."
Geneviève stopped him.
"Dismiss your friend, Maurice!" said she, "and such a friend! one who
has consoled, assisted, and sustained you? No; I would no more drive
such a friend from your house than from your heart. Let him come in,
Maurice; let him come in."
"With your permission?" said Maurice.
"I wish it," said Geneviève.
"Ah! you will find that to love you is not enough," cried Maurice,
delighted with her delicacy; "it is necessary to adore you!"
Geneviève held her blushing face to the young man. He opened the door,
and Lorin entered, smart as usual in his costume of demi-muscadin. On
perceiving Geneviève he manifested great surprise, which was succeeded
by a respectful salute.
"Come here, Lorin, come here, and look at the lady! You are dethroned,
Lorin. I have now some one I prefer to yourself. I would have given my
life for you; for her,--I tell you nothing new, Lorin,--for her I have
sacrificed my honor."
"Madame," replied Lorin, in accents of deep emotion, "I shall endeavor
to value Maurice the more, that he has not altogether ceased to care
for me."
"Sit down, sir," said Geneviève, smiling.
"Yes, sit down," said Maurice, who, having pressed in his right hand
that of his friend, and in his left that of his mistress, presented the
appearance of a man arrived at the height of human felicity.
"Then you do not wish to die now; do not wish any longer to kill
yourself?"
"What do you mean?" asked Geneviève, turning pale.
"Oh, in good truth!" said Lorin, "man is a most versatile animal,
and philosophers have good cause to despise his levity. Here is
one, would you believe it, Madame, who no longer ago than yesterday
evening wished to leap into the fire, throw himself into the water;
who declared there was no more happiness for him in this world. And
behold him this morning, gay, joyous, with a smile upon his lips, his
countenance resplendent with happiness, life in his heart, seated at a
well-furnished table; it is true he has not eaten much, but that does
not prove he is unhappy."
"Did he wish to do all this?" said Geneviève.
"All this, and much more. I will tell you all, some day, but at this
moment I am very hungry; it is all Maurice's fault for making me
yesterday evening run all over the Quarter Saint Jacques. Permit me,
then, to make an attack upon the breakfast, which I perceive you have
neither of you yet touched."
"That is right," said Maurice, with childish glee; "I have not
breakfasted, nor have you, Geneviève."
He watched Lorin's eyes as he uttered her name; but Lorin evinced no
surprise.
"Ah!" said Maurice, "you have already surmised who it is, Lorin."
"Zounds!" said Lorin, cutting himself a large slice of white and rosy
ham, and not seeming to hear Maurice's remark.
"I, also, am hungry," said Geneviève, holding her plate.
"Lorin," said Maurice, "I was ill yesterday."
"You were worse than ill; you were mad."
"Well, I think it is you who are suffering at this moment."
"Why?"
"You have not yet given us any verses."
"I will sing you one this moment," said Lorin,--
"Phœbus, in the midst of the Graces,
The lyre in his hand still retained,
Till following of Venus the traces,
T was lost, and could not be regained."
"Always ready with a quatrain," said Maurice, laughing.
"And you will have to be contented with it, as it is now necessary to
turn our attention to more serious affairs."
"Has anything new occurred, then?" said Maurice, anxiously.
"I am ordered on guard at the Conciergerie."
"At the Conciergerie!" said Geneviève, "near the queen?"
"Near the queen. I believe so, Madame."
Geneviève turned pale. Maurice frowned, and made a sign to Lorin, who
cut himself another slice of ham, double the size of the first. The
queen had indeed been removed to the Conciergerie, whither we shall
follow her.