Paul and Virginia by Bernadin de Saint-Pierre
page 48 of 104 (46%)
page 48 of 104 (46%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
|
intertwining palm trees, and she sighed. Reflecting upon the hour of the
night, and the profound solitude, her imagination again grew disordered. Suddenly she flew affrighted from those dangerous shades, and those waters which she fancied hotter than the torrid sunbeam, and ran to her mother, in order to find a refuge from herself. Often, wishing to unfold her sufferings, she pressed her mother's hand within her own; often she was ready to pronounce the name of Paul; but her oppressed heart left not her lips the power of utterance; and, leaning her head on her mother's bosom, she could only bathe it with her tears. "Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source of her daughter's uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to her on that subject. 'My dear child,' said she, address yourself to God, who disposes, at his will, of health and of life. He tries you now, in order to recompense you hereafter. Remember that we are only placed upon earth for the exercise of virtue.' "The excessive heat drew vapours from the ocean, which hung over the island like a vast awning, and slithered round the summits of the mountains, while long flakes of fire occasionally issued from their misty peaks. Soon after the most terrible thunder reechoed through the woods, the plains and the valleys; the rains fell from the skies like cataracts; foaming torrents rolled down the sides of the mountain; the bottom of the valley became a sea; the plat of ground on which the cottages were built, a little island: and the entrance of this valley a sluice, along which rushed precipitately the moaning waters, earth, trees, and rocks. "Meantime the trembling family addressed their prayers to God in the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which cracked horribly from the struggling winds. So vivid and frequent were the lightnings, that, although |
|


