never beheld her were talking of her; that Rouen was full of contention
concerning her beauty and her gift of music, for a song can be heard
through an open window. And how did it happen that Crailey Gray knew that
it was Miss Carewe's habit to stroll in her garden for half an hour or so,
each evening before retiring, and that she went to mass every morning soon
after sunrise? Crailey Gray never rose at, or near, sunrise in his life,
though he sometimes beheld it, from another point of view, as the end of
the evening. It appears that someone must have told him.

One night when the moon lay white on the trees and housetops, Miss Betty
paused in her evening promenade and seated herself upon a bench on the
borders of the garden, "touched," as the books of the time would have put
it, "by the sweet tranquillity of the scene," and wrought upon by the
tender incentive to sighs and melancholy which youth in loneliness finds
in a loveliness of the earth. The breeze bore the smells of the old-
fashioned garden, of violets and cherry blossoms, and a sound of distant
violins came on the air playing the new song from the new opera.

"But I also dreamt, which pleased me most,
That you loved me just the same--"

they sang; and with the lilt of them and the keen beauty of the night, the
inherited pain of the ages rose from the depths of the young girl's heart,
so that she thought it must break; for what reason she could not have
told, since she was without care or sorrow that she knew, except the
French Revolution, yet tears shone upon the long lashes. She shook them
off and looked up with a sudden odd consciousness. The next second she
sprang to her feet with a gasp and a choked outcry, her bands pressed to
her breast.