and her bosom friend, surround and smile at her, and it is a question of
who shall unhook her dress, remove the orange-blossoms from her hair, and
have the last kiss.

Good! now come the tears; they are wiped away and followed by kisses.
The mother whispers something in her ear about a sacrifice, the future,
necessity, obedience, and finds means to mingle with these simple but
carefully prepared words the hope of celestial benedictions and of the
intercession of a dove or two hidden among the curtains.

The poor child does not understand anything about it, except it be that
something unheard-of is about to take place, that the young man--she dare
not call him anything else in her thoughts--is about to appear as a
conqueror and address her in wondrous phrases, the very anticipation of
which makes her quiver with impatience and alarm. The child says not a
word--she trembles, she weeps, she quivers like a partridge in a furrow.
The last words of her mother, the last farewells of her family, ring
confusedly in her ears, but it is in vain that she strives to seize on
their meaning; her mind--where is that poor mind of hers? She really
does not know, but it is no longer under her control.

"Ah! Captain," I said to myself, "what joys are hidden beneath these
alarms, for she loves you. Do you remember that kiss which she let you
snatch coming out of church that evening when the Abbe What's-his-name
preached so well, and those hand-squeezings and those softened glances,
and--happy Captain, floods of love will inundate you; she is awaiting
you!"

Here I gnawed my moustache, I tore my gloves off and then put them on
again, I walked up and down the little drawing-room, I shifted the clock,